Keep Me Warm Until Morning
by BinkertellA113
Summary: Marienne is a 16 introverted Parisian girl whose strict Catholic parents have left her a life of shelter and limitations. When an encounter with the shy 17 year old bellringer of Notre Dame and ward of the Cathedral's Priest, Frollo, she finds that friends can be found in the most unlikely of situations, and a beautiful soul in the most contrasting of exteriors. Modern day.
1. Marienne

**Welcome to the story! I hope you enjoy it :)**

 **Just a little disclaimer to start with; this is a story that I have been meaning to write for a while and though I will always do my best to update as soon as possible, sometimes it will be difficult to do so what with busy life and commitments getting in the way.**

 **Some readers prefer to have regular updates but this cannot always be done, so please be patient with me.**

 **But rest assured that I won't abandon this story and am always trying my best to continue this story as swiftly as I can.**

 **Anyway, with all the paperwork done, on with chapter one...**

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The sun had not yet risen to warm the morning dew off the grass or the amber of the Autumn leaves, but Marienne was already fully awake. It may well have been the loud chirping of the birds outside her window that caused her to stir early, but she was no fool to the real reason. "Dream demons," her Mum had so often referred to it as when Marienne was a child.

Now at the ripe age of 16, she was grateful to have not suffered with nightmares and sleepless nights for a while but for some reason last night had proved the perfect condition for it to arise.

She lay on her back, her tired dark eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, the usual blue hue of its paint turned to a dull grey by the weakness of the early morning sun which had not yet been caught by her window.

6:23 revealed the alarm clock on her bedside table. In about an hour she would hear the routine sounds of her parents emerging from their room across the hall to start their day.

It was a Sunday. But for as long as Marienne could remember, a Sunday had never brought her the relief of a lie in or the quietness of a slow morning. She lived in a household of strong Catholics so a morning of praise and sermons at Notre Dame Cathedral were routine.

Her parents were in no means bad parents. They were strict, indeed, and at times difficult to talk to, but Marienne knew she was loved. She loved her parents dearly and was grateful for their guidance through her years. Yet, though she had not the bravery to admit this to them, she never felt the pull of their strong Catholic faith. This always created a barrier, she felt. One which Marienne had no control over. She preferred to search in her own time and in her own way.

She did however always look forward to visiting the Cathedral every time; its piercing splendour never failed to leave her in absolute awe every time she approached its doors. She was forever grateful to live so near to the church that the sounds of bells, so gorgeous and mighty in their musical tongues, never failed to reach her. On those few occasions when she had to stay home from church to rest an aching stomach or an irritated throat, she would catch herself being swept up by those their resonating chimes as they called the waking city of Paris to worship.

Her everyday seemed to be surrounded by those bells. For celebrations and feasts they'd ring, for Christmas, Easter, for confirmations and baptisms, and for every Sunday worship. She couldn't imagine life without their song.

The sun was shining brighter through her window, its strength telling the girl it was now time to get up. She was not reluctant, it is always easy to get up from a night of restlessness.


	2. Quasimodo

The weak Sunday morning sun struggled to seep into the miniscule window, its rays only mildly lighting up the small, dull bedroom. The walls were a boring shade of green that grew from a spotless grey carpet.

The room was immaculate yet basic, with a modest bed and bedside table, narrow wardrobe, a small stack of well-used books, and plain wooden desk with a lamp, a couple of draws and hard-backed chair as just about the only things contained within its walls. To the unknown eye, this room would be mistaken for a prison cell. It was indeed a prison of sorts to the young man sitting quietly at the desk in the corner of the room, clearly deep in his activity.

Not even the birds had chirped their morning song, but Quasimodo had been awake for a while. Once again, sleep had not been kind to him last night. He had decided to finish the painting he had started working on a few days earlier before he would be needed for the morning.

The desk at which he sat was perhaps the only colourful thing in the room; its surface decorated with small specks of dried paint and pencil markings that had solidified over the years.

In the middle of the table, carefully placed, was the young man's unfinished work from last night. It was a sheet of cheap paper that bore a picture of one of the Poplar trees outside his window which he could just about make out from where he sat. The drawing was an exact replica. It had been drawn with obvious care and exquisite detail, and the only thing keeping it from perfection was the lack of colour within its lines.

The dim light cast from the lamp beside the boy, aiding him while he painted, formed a menacing, almost beastly, shadow on the wall in front of him. It was an almost inhuman shape, and one who would certainly make lesser, unwise men flee in terror from the one whose shadow it belonged to.

The boy had always known he wasn't normal. His everyday observations of those walking by in the street and the discreet gaze of strangers in the downstairs hallway taught him from an early age of how a normal person was supposed to look. And it certainly wasn't how he looked.

His birth had cursed him with a severe and often sore hunched back, stemming from his right shoulder blade, forcing his spine to bend in a painful angle. One of his legs is shorter than the other, forcing on him an obvious limp whenever he walks. A prominent mound of flesh and bone covers most of one of his bright ceylon-emerald eyes, making it nearly impossible to see through, and his nose resembles almost a lump that has been pushed up into his pale face. Within a crooked mouth were a sparse scattering of crooked teeth.

Yet, in all this misfortune, the young man's arms and torso are large with solid and unmistakable muscle, as are his legs which resonate in them obvious agility. One of the most noticeable features of this poor young man was the brilliant red shade of his thick, messy yet shiny hair, which always flopped at strange angles unless he tidied it briefly with his hands.

Quasimodo carefully and delicately traced the last line of paint needed to complete his picture, and with a soft exhale, he sat back on his chair and smiled gently at his achievement. The picture was now blossoming with elegant hues of amber and gold for the leaves and strong traces of chartreuse and bronze for the trunk and branches. From what the boy couldn't catch of the real tree with his inhibited eyesight, he added from imagination, which added so much more life and brilliance to the picture than can be captured with just raw depiction.

He would give the painting time to fully dry before adding it to his growing collection of masterpieces of which he kept in the top draw of his desk. With not having any way of sticking his creations up on his walls, and not wanting to bother his guardian, his top draw became his gallery, with him as its only visitor.

It was still early morning when the boy rubbed his tired eyes before getting ready for the day. He threw on a basic dull green t shirt and jumper over the top which he always had rolled up to his bulky forearms, boring dark grey trousers and a pair of old and well-used trainers. His wardrobe was very limited in stock, with just a couple of t-shirts, jumpers and trousers. Having every one of his clothes custom-made to fit his unusual shape and hump is, as he had always been curtly reminded by his guardian, not cheap and not easy to come by. And so he didn't want to bother him with getting some more made for him.

He was downstairs and out the door just as a bird above him in a tree began the sequence of early morning songs that would carry on throughout the day. He looked up, smiling absentmindedly, appreciating its beautiful melody.

He then looked out apprehensively at the silent street. He knew no one else was ever awake at this hour, but no matter how many times he ventured outside the safety of the house to do this single task, he will always be nervously on his guard. He wished he lived closer to limit the chance of being seen, but he was at least thankful for the hood on his jumper that he appreciated as a way to hide his face were the unfortunate to happen. Indeed, the boy chose every time to leave at this early hour despite not needing to fulfil his bell-ringing duty until later in the morning, just to avoid unwelcome stares and worse. He would always choose waiting hidden up in the bell tower over being seen by the large crowds that so often littered Paris' streets once the day started.

Travelling to Notre Dame Cathedral to ring its heavy, numerous bells always felt longer than it was. As he limped cautiously down the winding, empty streets of Paris, he recalled the many unfortunate times a car carrying those whose previous merry nights were just finishing would approach him, its intoxicated residents beeping the horn as they shouted their slurred mockery and insults at him. He tried to forget now what those undesirable words were, and, as always, he failed.

At last, he made it to the Cathedral, and slipped in through a side door before heading straight up the many narrow twisting steps towards the bell tower. He was thankful for an uneventful trip, and could now look forward to using his skill and strength to sing the Cathedral's song, welcoming the citizens to worship.


	3. Our Lady

Marienne walked beside her parents to the Cathedral for mass, keeping her coat and scarf tightly around her against the morning Autumn chill.

Her parents never failed to make an effort with their Sunday attire, so she always did the same to keep them happy. She chose for this morning a pair of dark blue high-waisted jeans with a black chiffon top. Complimented with a silver pendant that had been given to her by her Mother last Christmas, and a pair of basic slightly heeled ankle boots.

She had put her slightly wavy chestnut hair in a braided half ponytail, perfectly highlighting her delicate features. She never bothered much with makeup despite the many other girls her age, choosing only a tinted lip balm and simply brushing through her full dark eyebrows. Her almond, slightly wide-set eyes were perhaps her most defining feature; dark orbs set behind a generous dusting of lashes, beautifully contrasting the slight pale tint of her skin. Light but noticeable freckles dusted her nose, giving her quiet beauty a certain innocence.

Approaching Notre Dame's intimidating doors, she was once again greeted with those familiar sounds of bells. As ever, so magnificent in their dominating chimes.

She would have given anything to remain stood there on the Cathedral's steps, letting the other church goers pass her by, and let the bells' melodies wrap around her like a warm comforting blanket. But the maddened cry of her Mother, telling her to hurry and get inside, snapped her out of this brief but blissful moment.

Notre Dame's interiors were just as magnificent as its exterior. Polished marble floors that seemed to go on for miles, patterned with large black and white diamond shapes in neat adjacent rows. Hundreds of lit candles held in thick black frames adorned the pillars between the many arches while many more hung in chandeliers high above. Marienne appreciated how they kept the church in as much of its original form as possible.

The church was growing louder now, filled with many voices of the Paris citizens arriving and taking their seats to offer their prayers and worship. She could still just about make out the final cadence of the bells high above her as they began to gracefully settle into silence.

Marienne followed her parents to a row of chairs at the front, right near the altar where the priest always stood to give today's sermon. Her parents always liked to be at the front, owing to their need to catch the priest's every word. Marienne dreaded sitting near the front. She never liked the idea of feeling on display.

With her parents engaged in conversation with the people next to them, she took off her coat and scarf and settled her eyes on the priest at the altar as he prepared his Bible and notes for the mass, his long spider fingers sweeping gracefully over the page to flatten it down.

The Rev. Claude Frollo was a tall, thin man. His pallid skin always seeming to have a greyish, shadowy hue to it, which clashed perfectly against the white of his cassock robes. His chiselled face seemed to be permanently fixed with a stern expression, as though everything around him disgusted him.

She had been coming to church for practically her whole life, but for some reason, his appearance had not changed in the slightest as though permanently set in ice. She had laughed to herself when she was younger, musing that his icy heart must have manifested to freeze the rest of his body.

He was indeed a harsh man with an unyielding manner. When Marienne was much younger she had been terrified of him; his low, icy voice and lifeless black eyes never failing to chill her to the bone. She was not so much terrified of him now, her fear turning into mere dislike. She always wondered how an unpleasant man could hold such a high position in the grace of the church.

She felt a cold shiver wash over her as she watched him now, scanning his congregants like a hawk searching for prey. Though the chill could have easily been from the brief sweep of cold as the giant doors behind her were shut once everyone was firmly in their seats.

He started the sermon with the same authoritative tone that never failed to cause immediate silence among the people before him.

"This morning," he began, "we will look at the familiar passage of the prophet, Jonah running from God." He paused, and said slowly, tasting his cold words, "and what can happen if you choose to run from Him."

He waited as everyone got out their Bibles and turned to the book of Jonah.

"Why would we think that we can find a place where God could not find us?" He once again scanned the people before him with his piercing eyes as though secretly appraising each and every one of them.

Marienne leaned over to follow the passage from her Mother's Bible, making frequent glimpses at the priest, noting each of his mannerisms for her own amusement.

The sermon, as usual, was lengthy, as was the worship that followed. Marienne never fidgeted, nor sighed, but listened intently and sung along during the worship. She enjoyed singing the hymns. The songs were beautiful, with soulful lyrics that had clearly been written with love and care those many centuries ago.

She sat back down with everyone, readying herself to listen to the last half of the sermon. But as she looked up at the ceiling above her to admire the glow of the candles, she thought she saw swift yet clumsy movement high in one of the shadowy balconies that surrounded them.

Now completely disengaged from Frollo's words, she vigilantly scanned each balcony, determined to catch more movement from whatever it was. She didn't care that she could feel her Mother's keen stare on her once she realised her daughter wasn't paying attention.

After a while, with no luck, she concluded it must have been another member of the congregation moving hastily to where they were supposed to be. Or maybe a bird had accidently flown in?

Yet she couldn't settle on these theories. Musing to herself as she dejectedly faced the front again, she could have sworn the figure's shape, unusual and distorted to put it simply, was far different to that of a congregation member, and it certainly wasn't a bird.

She had to spot it again to fully tell what it was. But there was one fact she couldn't get out of her head; it didn't quite look human.

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 **Big shout-out to kamikaze-djali for the first review for this story! Really appreciate your thoughtful comment.**


	4. His only friends

Quasimodo rang Notre Dame's giant bells with his powerful arms, soaring from one rope to another with the grace, speed and agility of a fly or cat.

The boy brought the entire Cathedral to life, turning it into a vast symphony in stone.

He loved the feeling of weightlessness and freedom that ringing the bells never failed to bring him. In exchange for the strength he put into pulling each rope, the bells instilled in him a much greater strength, a feeling that he can do anything.

The bells had always been good to him, and being left with weak hearing was a small price to pay for the joy each of his many musical friends gave him. He even lovingly gave them all their own names.

He couldn't remember how long it was that he had been the bell ringer of Notre Dame. He knew he must have been young when he was appointed the position, as it seems that was always who he was.

In the many times his strength and skill was needed to ring the bells through the years, he never missed one. Be it for or celebrations and feasts, of which there were many in Paris. For Christmas, Easter, for christenings, confirmations and baptisms, and for every Sunday worship, he never failed to ring them.

He will always be grateful for this job, for the sad fact is, this is his one and only time when he can be allowed to experience life outside the house.

The young man's gratitude towards his protector was undying, for he recognised the inconvenience the boy must have brought when he first took him in 17 years earlier. Quasimodo trusted his decision to protect his ugliness and monstrosity from the world as much as possible with profound and complete faith.

He has not once in his life disobeyed or questioned his guardian. Indeed, this was partly out of fear of him. The faint cuts and bruises permanently decorating parts of his body are a reminder of what would happen were he to make him angry. Yet the boy never hated his guardian for his harsh treatment; it's difficult to judge cruelty when you've never known kindness.

Quasimodo had long ago accepted his limited life. But a life of almost complete imprisonment was still difficult for the hunchback, who secretly wished more than anything he could see more of the world beyond the few short streets that stretched between the house and the Cathedral.

This small scratch of the world was all he knew, and, as he begrudgingly affirmed to himself many times through his years, was all he will ever know.

The hunchback had been ringing for several minutes when he could just about make out through the wide gaps in the tower's slates the growing sight of crowds arriving at the Cathedral for the Sunday mass.

He smiled to himself. He looked forward to the sight every time, pleased that he could do his part for the church.

Once the bell ringer could notice the large crowd of parishioners outside the Cathedral eventually disappearing inside, he made the last few pulls, letting his friends ring their final cadence for the morning.

Heart beating fast and sweat forming on his temples, Quasimodo expertly navigated along the beams and high landings of the tower and dropped gracefully onto the hard floor far below.

He glanced upwards, admiring the many bells still swaying and singing their song as orchestrated by their skilled maestro.

Quasimodo was finishing his habitual cleaning of the tower of any bird feathers and mess when his weak ears picked up the faint sound of the worship coming from the Cathedral's nave. This was a routine sound for him but he always loved to listen to it every time. It sounded so beautiful, almost heavenly, to him. And this week's melodies sounded particularly wonderful.

He had to listen closer.

Running a bulky arm over his forehead to wipe off the sweat, Quasimodo made his way down the ladder that stretched from the bell tower to the lower landing, and limped down the narrow staircase which he guessed took him to the Cathedral's balconies.

His heart was racing; he had never been in this part of the Cathedral before, and was dreading the possibility that he could get caught any moment. But the angelic sound of the worshippers' voices married beautifully with the choir's own vocals quickly banished any remaining thought of returning to the safety of the tower.

Certain that he was in the shadows, he leaned against the balcony, peering over, and listened intently.

The last hymn had eventually been sung and Quasimodo, delighted to be able to have enjoyed this first-hand, felt calm and content.

This rare blissful moment passed a swift second next, however, when Quasimodo suddenly noticed a young woman glance up at him, as though she somehow knew he was there. Stumbling at first in his haste to hide himself from her prying gaze, he ran with as much speed as his crippled legs could muster, back to the safety of the bell tower.

Quasimodo made it back in a matter of seconds, shaking and breathing fast from both adrenaline and fright, and silently promising never to do something thoughtless like that again.


	5. A fight you cannot win

**Happy new year everyone! Many humblest apologies for the tardiness of my writing upkeep lately. No excuses, let's press on.**

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Marienne's thoughts regarding the identity of the strange figure stayed with her for the rest of Frollo's sermon.

Morning mass eventually came to an end, and the guests were now huddled in small groups, chatting idly to one another in their seats or in the aisle, while the Cathedral's giant doors were opened, inviting in the morning chill once again.

The young woman remained in her seat while her parents had their usual chat with the priest up at the altar. Though she couldn't hear their conversation over the chatter, she begrudgingly recognised her mother's stern glances towards her as a signal that she was once again the topic of their discussion.

She distracted herself by looking about, recognising a lot of familiar faces as belonging to either the town baker, the local bookkeeper on the corner and a teacher at her old primary school. She would have waved or smiled were they not in deep conversation.

There were always a few children among the Sunday's churchgoers; announcing their presence with the odd excited laugh as they played hide and seek behind their unamused parents or snaking around the pews in a game of tag.

She was not surprised in her perusing to not find others of her age. They had been lost long ago to their own searching. She secretly wished her parents were that granting.

The Cathedral's nave grew gradually quieter as the congregations filled out onto the cold streets of Paris once again.

* * *

"What was all that about?" her mother tersely asked her daughter the minute they got home, nearly slamming the front door. "Something more interesting on the ceiling, Marienne?"

"Hm?" the young woman replied absently, her distant thoughts returning to the room. The image of the figure had once again flooded her mind for the duration of their cold silent journey home.

"Oh," she said quickly, realising now what she was referring to. "I thought I saw…a bird... in the balcony."

"Reverend Frollo didn't appreciate your obvious lack of care for his sermon this morning," chimed in her father as he took off his coat, not looking at his daughter.

"Well of course he'd use his Hawk eyes to catch people out," Marienne retorted under her breath. She quickly caught herself. This was the first time she had spoken of her dislike of the priest to her parents.

"For goodness sake, Marienne, you're not a child!" barked her mother. "When will you act your age and respect your parents AND your priest? Don't think we haven't noticed your frequent disengagements in mass." She finished, her shaky voice momentarily failing her.

Marienne stared at her mother before breathing a laboured yet controlled breath in an attempt to calm herself. "You know I always pay attention," she spoke slowly. "When have you ever seen me not respect the Church? When have I ever not respected you?" She tried to ignore the tightening of her throat and the tingling in her hands.

"You know what we're saying, Marienne," said her mother, beginning to calm. "You must have learned by now to trust in those who know and do what is good for you. All we ask is you trust us in our judgements. And you can start by just paying attention in mass. Is that really too much to ask?"

"Of course not," her daughter answered dejectedly, deciding to step down.

"Alright then," began her mother, moving into the kitchen and putting her notes from that morning's sermon on the counter, though with a little more force than she had intended. She looked up at her husband. "Your father and I have agreed with Reverend Frollo to bring you with us to his bible studies."

"What?!" Marienne absentmindedly snapped, stunned by this statement. Any time spent with the priest more than was necessary on a Sunday was never going to be good news to her.

"I've had enough of this, Marienne. We know what's good for you, so stop fighting it. End of discussion," signalled her mother, indignantly leaving the room, her husband following her.

The girl was left alone in the small kitchen, heart racing with emotion. She closed her eyes, taking in a long, deep breath. Her mother was as stubborn as she was faithful. Marienne knew this was a fight she would never win.


	6. His protection

**Big thank you to Crazykat100, dreamkeeper and Jenny for more reviews! Also fair warning, this chapter gets dark quite quickly.**

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"Quasimodo," spoke a cold, unforgiving voice from behind him.

The young hunchback gasped and whipped around in fright to be greeted with the stern face of Rev. Claude Frollo towering over him like a Vulture over its prey.

"Oh," spoke the boy meekly, still trying to compose himself from the shock. "G-Good afternoon, m-master," he finally said, vaguely bowing his head out of respect for his guardian.

Once the adrenaline of that morning's incident began to weaken once back in the refuge of the tower, Quasimodo soon caught sight of the Parishioners once again spilling onto the stone steps outside, telling him it was the end of the morning's mass.

The bell ringer had been making his way, even more cautiously than usual, back down the narrow staircase that led to the inconspicuous side door through which he had entered that morning. The chatter of the worshippers had long died away, and the Cathedral was now peacefully silent.

But before he could reach the door, he was stopped abruptly in his tracks by his guardian.

Clutching his Bible tightly to his chest with his thin spidery fingers, the priest stared disdainfully at the misshapen boy in front of him trying to collect himself. The priest had replaced his Cassock robes with a simple black turtleneck jumper and smart black trousers.

"The bells sounded particularly pleasant this morning, Quasimodo."

The young man blinked at him, taken aback by his abrupt change in tone. He stood awkwardly, his eyes fixed on the floor. He could feel his master's burning gaze.

To say that Frollo always made him nervous was an understatement. A life of unjust treatment will often leave you instinctively timid of the one who inflicts it.

"Th-thank you very much, master," Quasimodo quietly replied. He didn't know how to feel at that moment. It wasn't like the priest to speak to his ward while in the church. Quasimodo knew as much that Frollo would never willingly choose to associate with him whenever he could avoid it, especially at such a holy place.

For as long as he could remember Quasimodo knew after every mass to always wait patiently by the side door to be picked up by Frollo in the car. He will always be eternally grateful for Frollo sparing him the horror of a journey home during the peak of crowdedness of a Sunday afternoon in Paris.

"Come along," the priest finally said, motioning the boy out the door, with an air of obvious discontentment.

* * *

Rev. Frollo never talked to Quasimodo during their journeys home from the Cathedral. The boy knew to always respect his wishes for silence. But he still couldn't help noticing this silence was more palpable than usual. He eyed the priest, noting a more obvious furrow in his brow, and the pursing of his thin lips, as though biting back the urge to say something to his ward.

Once back at their house, the bell ringer was once again greeted by the cold, bleak hallway.

It was a relatively large house, though its size was mostly afforded by the length it could extend to the small garden in the back, making the hallway in front of the hunchback stretch thin and menacing in a way that resembled an old-fashioned hospital corridor.

Though the hallway had colour, it was a colour that always seemed to look a bit off. The kitchen and living room were never much better. The deep mahogany of the banister clashed with the tepid green of the wallpaper, while the worn brown carpet was not aided by the stark white ceiling.

The hallway was lined with a handful of closed wooden doors on either side. In between a few of them sat various cabinets; one only a few feet tall, one tall and narrow, and one short and wide, its short stature possibly owing to the many old, obviously dusty books it had to hold up. Above these cabinets held a collection of encaustic paintings, one just as ominous looking as the next. The most noticeable ornament among these was a large cross hanging importantly above the door that led into the kitchen at the far end. It looked heavy and well-polished.

This off kilter, uninviting house did not perturb Quasimodo anymore, having had 17 years to get used to it. It was home for him, whether he liked this idea or not.

Frollo abruptly brushed past Quasimodo and slowly took off his gloves and brushed his jumper lightly with his graceful fingers.

Feeling of no use to his guardian at this moment, Quasimodo turned to make his way upstairs to his room.

"Quasimodo," Frollo finally spoke, before the boy even had his foot on the first step.

"Yes, master," replied the hunchback instantly, moving hastily towards where Frollo stood, tall, elegant and as motionless as a hunting vulture.

"My church officials and congregants know not to venture in the bellower, a courtesy I appreciate of them," began Frollo, his tone so calm it made Quasimodo feel incredibly uneasy. "For I know it profits great ease for you that you should not encounter such unprecedented disturbance during your duties."

"I-I do very m-much appreciate that, m-master, th-thank you," replied the nervous hunchback.

"And in such matters, I would find it appropriate were you to equate this curtesy by _remaining_ in the bell tower, and fulfilling _all_ agreed upon duties with which you have been blessed."

Quasimodo's breath froze, a wave of panic smothering him. Frollo knows he left the bell tower. But _how_ could Frollo know? Was it even a big deal that he left? His thoughts were racing uncontrollably.

He didn't know how to respond. He had suddenly forgotten how to talk.

Frollo smirked as his ward stuttered out panicked mumblings.

"I-I-I, w-w-well, I-I only-" Quasimodo began.

"You really are so much more stupid than you already look," said Frollo tersely, finally abandoning his composed manner.

Quasimodo seemed to feel these words more than he heard them. "M-master please, I didn't m-mean to-"

But before he could finish, Frollo slapped him hard across the face.

"How _dare_ you disobey me!" Frollo growled at the shrinking figure in front of him, slapping him hard again. "How _dare_ you even _think_ that you can do something like that!" The priest grabbed one of the books on the cabinet and whacked it across Quasimodo's head. Do you think the cathedral is your little playground that you can just wonder freely around?" said Frollo in a mocking tone, tossing the book aside.

"I-I'm so sorry, m-master," squeaked Quasimodo, bent over more than usual and clutching both hands to the side of his head.

"Did you think you were _completely_ invisible to the entire cathedral when you went on your little exploration, hm? I gave you _one_ instruction, Quasimodo," said Frollo, marking his point with one finger. "I expect you to follow such a simple instruction in return for _all_ I have given you, for _everything_ I have sacrificed to take care of you, boy!"

The boy tried to fight back with all his might the tears now forming in his scared eyes. The lump in his throat made it impossible for him to speak.

"By throwing away your obedience you throw away my protection. You will be entirely at their mercy," he said, pointing vaguely towards the front door. "You have no place in this world, Quasimodo," he hissed, bending down towards the boy to make sure his words made their mark. "And the world has no place for a disgusting, misshapen wretch like you. And you _know_ it."

The priest was slowly beginning to collect himself again. He straightened up, clasping his hands together in front of him.

He continued to eye his trembling ward, deliberately making him feel as uncomfortable as was humanly possible.

The priest finally cleared his throat. "Get out of my sight. You have yet to be relieved of this, boy."


	7. A life of silence

Maybe it was from the throbbing pain of the cut and bruise now fully formed and harsh on his right temple, or the fact that he hadn't eaten at all the previous day, but Quasimodo had had another sleepless night.

The early rays of sun leaking into his small bedroom promised the potential of a sunny Monday morning, but Quasimodo had nor the mood or energy to notice or care.

He sat at his modest desk and stared blankly at a drawing he had attempted to start the previous evening. What little pencil markings he had managed to put on the paper had been disturbed by his tears, leaving just a canvas of black smudges. He tore it off the desk and scrunched it up. He continued absently squeezing the piece of paper in his hands, only now noticing the sting of fresh tears in his tired eyes.

He knew he never should have disobeyed and left the bell tower. He deserved everything his master punished him with.

And yet ghostly snippets of yesterday's worship rung in wonderful cadences in his ears. He was glad he could experience this moment, to have it stay with him for all his lonely days. But then the harsh thuds of Frollo's cruel, punishing words churning in his head cut through the choir, and the sharp pain of his bruise brought him back to his room.

It was then that he broke down again, the heavy weight of his lonely, cruel world crashing down upon him.

* * *

As Quasimodo had anticipated, that morning passed by painstakingly slowly.

Frollo hadn't said anything more about the incident. Quasimodo assumed Frollo having not given him food yesterday would be enough for now, but felt he had to mentally prepare himself just in case.

Quasimodo's forced living situation always made Frollo's many punishments much worse. The young man had been taught years ago to respect his carer's wishes to remain upstairs when not needed to ring the bells at the Cathedral. This in turn placed Frollo in complete control of his ward's meals, and of when he would be denied them.

Having rung the bells for the afternoon's Angelus, Quasimodo returned to his room and sat at his desk once again, absently drawing whatever his eyes could catch from the warm afternoon outside his window. He didn't feel up to drawing but it was the only thing aside from the bells that could distract his tired mind.

He was tracing the delicate outline of a bird perching on the rain gutter of a nearby house when his eyes swept across to a handful of people making their way up the path to the house. He let out a deep breath once he recognised who these people were.

A few afternoons and evenings a week, his guardian would host a Bible study with regular congregants to discuss teachings of the Bible as well as that week's sermon. Quasimodo learned quickly in his earlier years that Frollo was a man who always favoured privacy over being sociable. He was never one to willingly hold gatherings, or even have the odd friend visit, so Quasimodo knew Frollo despised this task. But Frollo was also a man of dedication to the church, so he would endure these meetings for the good of his faith.

These meetings never failed to make Quasimodo feel very nervous and tense. It was these times when he was most glad that Frollo never chose to have more visitors to the house.

In the back of his mind he knew it ridiculous to think one of these people would venture upstairs and come into his room. And yet he couldn't help but keep very quiet for the duration of each meeting. If anything, if one of the Bible study members didn't come upstairs, it would surely be his master to punish him if he himself were to hear him. He ran a hand over his right forearm, tracing his fingers over the welts from a previous occurrence.

Hearing them downstairs now, talking in their usual serious tones, Quasimodo put effort into sharpening his pencil with slow, discreet movements. Every now and then he would whip his head around towards the door with the brief inkling that he heard someone directly outside.

He closed his eyes slowly while he caught himself again, before returning to the picture of the bird he had started to draw. Though the real-life bird had now flown off towards some far distant adventure, Quasimodo's imagination took over, bringing so much life and character to the drawing that it looked like it was even moving on the page.

The more minutes Quasimodo spent painting the bird, the more his mind detached itself from the gathering downstairs. He soon felt the same wave of calmness and peace that had overcome him yesterday during the worship. He hadn't even noticed that he was running out of a few of his paint colours.

This realisation soon hit him however, and that wonderful wave of calm was abruptly replaced with that all too familiar feeling of dread. Asking Frollo for new painting supplies was always an arduous task.

His guardian never missed an opportunity to remind him of the trouble and sacrifice it takes to keep him. Frollo was always very good at making Quasimodo feel guilty for anything, especially whenever he asked for the smallest thing for his room, such as an alarm clock for his bedside, and a few second-hand books.

Quasimodo was very much used to being on his own but he needed these aids to help him cope. The boy chose his battles carefully with what he would dare to ask his guardian for, but his painting supplies will always be a necessity for him. He would wait until Frollo's anger of yesterday's incident passed.

The gradual darkening in the boy's modest room announced that it was creeping into the early evening.

Quasimodo heard the harsh closing of the front door, telling him the members of the Bible study had finally left. He let out a long exhale, as though he had been keeping it in this whole time.

But when he feels these moments of calm and relief, there always seemed to be a bad thought to replace it; though he had got through this Bible study, there was always the next one to start dreading.

* * *

 **The next chapter will finally be Marienne and Quasimodo's first meeting!**


	8. No Rest for the Good

**Really sorry for taking so long to update! Lots of stuff going on, but here we are! Though this story is taking a bit longer to flesh out than I thought, so this is _nearly_ the chapter where they meet. The chapter after this is when we'll get our fateful meeting. Anyway, for now I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Marienne had always been a fairly shy girl, and had never been popular at school. She never felt she had much to offer anyway; her parents' jobs weren't particularly interesting and exciting like some of her classmates' and she didn't have any siblings to talk about. For as long as she could remember she had always wished for a brother or sister to play make believe and teach things to.

She didn't think of herself as particularly pretty either, certainly not like some of the girls at her school who many boys seemed to always be chasing. She never knew what it would be like to have a boyfriend. Going to a mixed school always made it nearly impossible to escape daily surrounding chatter in the hallways of 'who's going out with who' and 'who likes who.'

Luckily, she didn't have to spend her lunch and breaks entirely on her own, and she was able to have partners in class. She was thankful for the few with which she exchanged smiles with and eventually began conversation with back in her second year in the creative writing club after school. Julia, Ines and Anne-Lise were their names.

If being truthful, Marienne wouldn't count herself as being a part of their group. The three girls were generally quite quiet and tended to talk about Robert Burns and Kipling and not much else. Anne-Lise didn't always hang out with them as she was a part of the textiles club too so would often spend time with that group. Marienne still enjoyed their company and was grateful that they seemed to like having her around too.

Lying in bed, she rubbed her eyes to adjust them to the early morning sun seeping through her thin curtains. She turned instinctively to look at the alarm clock next to her, and then at the table top calendar next to it. She let out an exasperated breath. Only Tuesday. This week really can't get much slower.

Once again, sleep hadn't given itself to her. But for once it wasn't the "dream demons," nor was it the stress of the ever-growing pile of coursework from school that kept her awake.

She knew exactly what it was that had kept her awake. It had surprised her how much the image of that figure, draped completely in shadow and with its clumsy movements, had kept so embedded in her mind. This sighting during the Sunday's sermon would have been completely forgotten to her were it not for the figure's shape. Distorted, almost inhuman.

Her logical thought always took over at this point, telling her it was just the angle of the shadows that made it look so unusual. And yet she just couldn't give in to this idea.

She lay back to stare at the ceiling and slowly ran through the events of the day ahead. School…geography presentation…Creative Writing Club...give Anne-Lise her birthday card…Bible Stu-

"Great," she curtly spoke aloud. Tonight was Rev. Frollo's bible study. This she was _definitely_ not looking forward to. Not in the slightest. For not paying attention for one small second in church she has to put up with the vulture and spend more time listening to his readings as he scans the room with his cruel eyes as though to catch someone out.

Not only that, she has to go to his _house_. She had no idea what his house would be like, though she thought up many amusingly sinister houses and haunting décor that most fit his character. There was the cliché tall, dark castle with spires and bats flying out the window. And the house from _Monster House_. She reckoned this one most fitted him; behind a refined visage lurked an oblivion of unending cruelty and trickery.

She had always had a rather unrestrained imagination. And she was grateful to have it, for it has stuck by her during many lonely days.

The dread brought by tonight stayed with her as she walked the few minutes to school. Though she luckily catching sight of Ines getting dropped off by her mum and was glad she could distract herself by talking about this week's presentation assignments.

* * *

That evening, Marienne walked a few paces behind her parents at a relatively slow pace, trying to lengthen the time before she'd have to meet eyes with the priest again. Though her mother's inpatient looks made her quickly abandon this mission.

It was a mild evening but she had her coat tucked into her arms just in case. She wore a navy cardigan on top of a simple yet elegant black camisole, and black skinny jeans, and green pumps. She had put her slightly wavy hair into the same braided half ponytail she had worn at church. She preferred this style as it kept the hair out of her face without pulling too tight on her head.

As the three walked, Marienne could tell her mother was a bit nervous about this meeting. Having not accompanied them to these meetings before, she couldn't determine if this was how she always was before each one, or if it was from having Marienne with her for the first time.

She had not registered when her parents suddenly turned right into a front garden. The walk from her house to the priest's was surprisingly short. She followed her parents up the path leading to the front door, making sure not to miss a single detail that Rev. Frollo's house had to offer her.

She was not surprised that this house didn't remotely resemble her own fantastical musings, though as she walked closer to the front door, she was disappointed at just how _ordinary_ this house really was. Scanning the exterior, it was getting to the point of being almost annoying how unassuming it was. With white paint thinly coating the bricks, and windows with slightly worn wooden frames. Though she noticed one window on the top tier being markedly smaller than the others. She jumped very slightly when something behind that small window suddenly moved. She squinted her eyes, trying to catch what it was through the rapidly darkening evening. What was it with her and making something suddenly move when she laid eyes on it?

The front door wasn't a bit like the arched, gothic doors she had pictured. It was a disturbingly simple brown oak, rectangle door with two small hazed windows near the top.

As she waited for her mother to ring the doorbell and to be let in, she looked behind her at the front garden.

It was a semi-detached house so it shared a rather tall fence with its neighbour. Though Marienne noticed the front garden was not nearly as green as its neighbour. If anything, there was hardly any grass to spot. It all seemed to be gravel aside from a few bushes that were mostly all pushed up against the fence.

Her sightseeing was interrupted when a low, rich voice sounded her mother and father's names. She turned back and was greeted by the domineering stature of Rev. Claude Frollo standing in the doorway. He wore a dark grey bodell coat over a thick black jumper and what looked like very formal trousers, paired with immaculately clean oxford shoes.

As her and her parents passed Frollo into the house, he gave her a slight nod and greeted good evening to her. She returned it with just as little sincerity.

She noticed immediately the cold chill that swept over her as she walked further into the hallway. It seemed to be almost colder in the house than it was outside.

She took in her surroundings while she waited with her parents as they took of their coats and started small talk with the priest. The house had an old, rustic feel to it. With a mixture of dark browns and greens scattered about in various forms.

What struck the young woman instantly noticed was the narrow stretch of the hallway in front of her, making her think instantly of the hallways you'd see in olden day hospitals. She noted the tepid green wallpaper that was partially hidden by a few brown cabinets lined against the walls. She noted the ominous paintings that were overtly religious in some way, and the giant cross hanging above the end door. She also noted the lack of plants or any other homely touches. There was no life in this house.

All the doors were closed except the one furthest on the right which Marienne could hear low chatter coming from it.

Her parents continued talking to the priest (their enthusiasm for the topic not being even remotely reciprocated) as they all made their way towards the sound of the solemn chatter.

The room was rather small, and just as uninviting as the hallway. The off-colour, lightly patterned cream wallpaper made Marienne feel slightly sick. Two hard leather sofas met in a right angle to each other, in which sat about seven people, with a couple of members on hard-backed chairs adjacent to them. They were engaged in deep discussion when Marienne entered, and only looked up when the priest addressed her (rather reluctantly, she noticed) to the room.

Marienne took a seat next to her parents on a hard-backed chair, and wondered immediately how long this meeting would take. To her surprise, her mother gave her a quick smile that spoke both reassurance and comfort to the girl.

"Thank you for coming this evening," announced Frollo to the room, sitting with both poise and importance on a comfy-looking brown leather chair, facing the semi-circle of people. Marienne spotted the air of displeasure in his words, like the priest loathed nothing more than thanking them for intruding in his house.

"Now," he began, seizing the large, heavy-looking Bible on the table next to him. "Let's begin with chapter 23, verse 19."

* * *

"Not a sound, boy," demanded the young man's caretaker, as he stood in the doorway of the hunchback's shamefully small room.

Though it was a pleasant Tuesday evening, Quasimodo had not noticed like he usually would, for the dread of another Bible Study taking place downstairs stole all his attention.

"Yes, master," replied Quasimodo, standing by the foot of his bed and subconsciously scratching his forearm out of nervousness.

The priest flashed his usual eerie smile at the boy. "I will bring you your dinner after the meeting is over, do you understand?"

"Oh, y-yes master, of course. Thank you v-very much." Quasimodo replied meekly. After being denied his meals since the incident on Sunday, he was truly thankful to hear these words. The boy felt he should say something more. Perhaps this hadn't shown his true gratitude enough.

But before he could think what to say, the priest had already closed the bedroom door, leaving the boy, once again, alone with the aching thought that he hadn't been appreciative enough of his guardian.

Quasimodo limped to his desk just in time to spot a small handful of the Bible study members making their way up the path to the house, and listened tentatively for the imminent sound of the chatter in the downstairs hallway. More members arrived up the path shortly after, but Quasimodo had not noticed.

He had taken to subconsciously rubbing his right temple where the bruise from Sunday still pained him. A couple of times, he had resorted to dipping the corner of an old shirt in a glass of water and holding it to the bruise with the hope that it might provide some form of relief. But the relief was always temporary.

Quasimodo tried to not let the pain bother him, and distracted himself by adding to his latest unfinished painting. He wanted to get the finishing touches of pencil done before the outside became too dark to work from.

The boy had been looking outside his small window, studying a large Rose bush across the street for reference, when his eyes swept to another few people coming up the path for the meeting. A man, a woman and a younger woman following close behind them. But it was the sight of this young woman that had kept his eyes fixed.

She was beautiful. He found himself leaning over his desk, just to get a clearer look at her. He gazed at her thick, chestnut hair and how it reminded him of the dark hue of the Autumn leaves on the trees he always loved to paint. He admired her delicate lips, and the dark orbs of her eyes. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. His eyes traced her movements, as she went about looking around her in an almost eager fashion.

He hadn't realised how intently he had been looking at the girl, until he realised that she now seemed to be looking straight back at him. He instantly leapt away from the window, practically flying out of his chair and very nearly tripping over a pile of books in his clumsiness.

His stomach lurched with the possibility of maybe Frollo hearing this. But he would never know the answer until after the meetings.

He took a few moments to steady himself and calm down, and once he had heard chatter in the hallway, telling him they were now inside and about to begin the meeting, he returned to his desk, though a little shaken.

Though not before finding out that his sudden movements earlier had caused a cup of paint to spill over onto his picture, ridding it more and more of its intricate beauty as it spread further over the paper. He jerked his drawing off the desk before it could become more ruined, but his desperate movements caused the cup of water closest to him to spill its contents over right onto his shirt. He jumped up in surprise but in doing so stepped too far back and tripped over his chair and fell to the floor with a loud thud.

Paying no attention to whether he was hurt, he bolted upright to his feet, certain now that Frollo and the other people downstairs would have definitely heard. He didn't dare move a muscle. All he could do was stare miserably at the ruined drawing on the floor in front of him.

That was until he heard a knock at his door.


	9. Beauty in plain sight

The meeting progressed at a slow pace.

It was less a Bible discussion than it was the priest just citing chapter after chapter from the Bible to the room.

She didn't know for sure how long they had been in the cramped study but the body heat coupled with the off-colour walls were starting to make her feel a bit sick. She needed some air.

To her relief, the priest had stopped to sip a glass of water. She decided to use this moment.

"E-excuse me, Father," Marienne spoke to Frollo as courteously as she could. Her parents whipped around to their daughter, and soon the rest of the members took note of her as well.

The priest eyed her over his reading glasses, before slowly removing them and folding them in the opened Bible on his lap. He continued regarding her in silence as though she had just spat an insult at him.

"Yes, dear girl," replied the priest at last, in a voice with palpable frustration but expertly masked with forged kindness.

"Sorry, but can I please use your bathroom?" she asked with deliberate geniality. She could feel her face getting hot. She tried to ignore the sudden wave of sickness coming over her. Whether it was still from the stuffiness of the room or the act of talking to Frollo outright, she could not determine.

The priest glowered at her, completely abandoning his friendly act by this point. The room seemed to turn cold all of a sudden. The members and her parents looked frozen, and, almost in unison, looked at Frollo to hear his answer. It was as though she was still spitting insults at the priest.

She knew the priest was an unpleasant man, but surely he can't say no to such a mundane request? Was this really the first time someone has asked this question during one of these meetings? It certainly seemed that way. But she couldn't take back her words now.

She knew Frollo was deliberately holding off responding to her, letting the cold, uncomfortable silence remain in the air, as though to make her realise whatever insubordination he deemed she had just committed.

"By all means," the priest finally spoke through what almost sounded like gritted teeth. He raised one thin hand, gesturing to upstairs. He was even starting to look a little anxious. She could feel his black, hawk eyes following her as she left the room.

She already felt a little better having been temporarily freed of that stuffy room. But she carried on walking, up the foreboding hallway. She stood at the foot of the stairs and looked up, only to be greeted with complete darkness.

She made her way up the steps, trying her best to use the light from the ground floor to navigate around the upstairs hallway. By the vague outline, she could tell the hallway was not as long as it was downstairs. She slowly and carefully paced further through the darkness. She traced the walls with her hands, but there was no sign of a light switch.

From Frollo's gesture she knew the bathroom was through one of the doors that her adjusted eyes could make out amid the darkness. But every one of them was closed, leaving her no guarantee of which one it was.

Then to her shock a soft yet unmistakable cry came from the other side of a door on her left, followed immediately by a loud crash.

"What the…" she instinctively whispered. The sound definitely wasn't faint enough for her to suppose it had come from next door. The voice that made the cry sounded male, though a young male. Did Frollo have a son?

Her mind then went to the sound of the crash. Whoever this was that had made this sound was obviously in trouble. They needed help.

She looked briefly towards the stairs in case someone had been alerted by the crash, but after about a minute no one came. She pressed her ear up against the door to trace any sounds of movement. But with nothing but silence coming from the other end, she fought every shy bone in her body and knocked gently.

Still silence.

She bit her lip, trying to decide what to do next. Should she fool herself into believing it was just her imagination that made those sounds? But they sounded too real to just brush off as mere fantasy. And by the sounds of that cry, someone seemed to have been genuinely hurt.

She knocked a couple more times. Still nothing.

Becoming a bit impatient now with the lack of a response, she took in a deep, much needed breath and opened the door gingerly.

"Hello?" she spoke as she opened the door further.

Sudden, swift movement that made Marienne jump came from the far corner of the small room.

She peered round to face the source of the movement, but gasped and leapt back in fright when her eyes lay on the hunchbacked boy. They both seemed to gasp at the sight of one another, their faces frozen in both fright and shock.

The sight that greeted the young woman had to have been seen to be believed, and yet she herself couldn't quite believe it. She had the overwhelming instinct to hurtle back out the door, and slam it shut. But her feet remained rooted to the spot, too stunned to move.

They both remained silent, staring at one another for a good few moments. Though she couldn't mistake that the boy was visibly shaking, and seemed to be pressing himself further into the wall behind him as though that would make him invisible.

After a few more moments, she was released somewhat from her shock, and gradually managed to take the deformed boy's appearance in.

Her eyes traced over the bow legs, the thick ape-like arms, the large hump on his back, the shock of red, messy hair, the prominent mound of flesh over one eye, the malformed nose, and the barely noticeable scattering of uneven teeth.

She would have bounded out the door in fright were it not for the most notable and endearing feature: his eyes. They were absolutely beautiful; a perfect mixture of bright ceylon and emerald. She found herself even relaxing slightly when looking into those bottomless orbs. Indeed, this boy's appearance was alarming and menacing, but those gentle eyes revealed to her nothing but kindness and an unmistakable innocence.

She registered that the boy himself hadn't relaxed at all. He remained glued to the back wall, seemingly unsure of what to say or do. He had taken to trying to cover his face, but even he knew it was too late. She eyed the fallen over chair and the wet patch on the carpet.

"I…um," Marienne began, her dry voice failing her. "I…just…um...I just wanted to see if you were alright. I…heard the…the noise."

The hunchback continued to stare at her. Once again, several moments had passed with them standing in thick silence. The cold stain of the water on his shirt was now sticking uncomfortably to his torso. He wrung his shaking hands nervously, but he hadn't noticed the wet paint smeared on his palm and now saw he had spread the paint all over them.

"Oh," Marienne spoke, spotting the paint on his hands and the water stain on his shirt. She began to take a step towards him. "Can I help you with-"

"N-no," replied the boy, with determined strength in his usually gentle voice, and catching Marienne off guard.

His scared eyes remained fixed on the young woman, as though on guard for any harm that she might inflict on him. But she just nodded simply and smiled in resignation.

She had so many questions that she wanted to ask this strange boy that stood very awkwardly in front of her. Who was he? What was his name? Was he really Frollo's son? What had happened to him? But all she could do was tell him that she wasn't here to harm him, as it certainly seemed like he expected her to.

Her thoughts then went back to downstairs and was now very conscious that she had been away from the meeting more than Frollo would deem appropriate before becoming suspicious.

Seeing that the silent boy was otherwise unhurt despite being visibly petrified of her, she thought it best that she relieve him of his discomfort and return to the study.

"Well…I'm glad you aren't hurt. I-I'm really sorry that I just barged in on you like this…" she had tried to say this in a jovial way.

With no response again, she took it as her cue to back out the room, closing the door gently.

Facing the dark parameters of the hallway, she leaned on the closed door. She put a hand to her chest, feeling her heart beating madly.

She could feel that her face was hot but she knew it wasn't because of the sickness from earlier. In fact, all traces of the sickness had completely disappeared.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she headed back downstairs to the study, still trying to make sense of what the heck had just happened.

* * *

The priest was still reading to the room when he eyed the girl, watching her every move as she sat back down on the hard chair. She wouldn't notice this but Frollo's expression at that moment was the closest to nervousness that had ever been etched into his stern features.

"Are you ok?" Marienne's mother asked her quietly, making sure it wouldn't interrupt the priest's readings.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the young woman replied simply, a dazed smile creeping on her lips.

She observed Frollo, seeing him in an entirely new light now. She never in a million years would have thought that Claude Frollo, the most unpleasant, horrid man she had ever known, could be a father. She always thought it hilariously ironic that such a vile man could be a member of the holy church, but a _parent_ too.

Poor boy, she thought. Having to put up with Frollo as a father. She certainly couldn't see a resemblance though. Not in the slightest. Maybe this was because of his…very unusual appearance, she mused.

What has to happen to a person to make them look like that? Any attention of hers that may have been attached to the Bible study previously was entirely diminished now. All she could think about was the frightened, trembling boy.

Those _eyes_. She hadn't come across anything like them. They could hardly be called eyes, more like infinite galaxies of ceylon-emerald magnificence.

And yet there was such palpable terror in those eyes. She had never seen anyone look so scared in another person's presence before.

She wished she could do something for him, anything. But with the sound of Frollo closing his bible firmly, signalling the end of the evening, all she could do was worry.


	10. A lifetime to dread

**Huge thank you's all around to kamikaze-djali, Crazykat100, Carina L, dreamkeeper, and Jake! Thank you so much for your amazing reviews and responses. They really keep me going!**

 **Now on with the show...**

* * *

The hunchbacked boy remained collapsed on the floor, as still and quiet as a statue. The soft and unexpected knocking at his door had thrown him right into panic mode. His heart was beating so fast and loud that he could even feel it in his ears.

Was it Frollo? He must have heard the crash. Should he answer it, or let him come in? He felt utterly powerless.

The knocking stopped, as did his breath. His weak hearing picked up the vague traces of movement from directly outside his door. Whoever this was, they were still here.

The trepidation was excruciating.

And suddenly, the knocking began again. One knock, then another. With each knock, Quasimodo's breathing became more shallow and heavy. He could feel the grains in the carpet burning into his large hands from the weight of his body resting on them for so long.

And then, he watched in utter disbelief and distress as the handle twisted, and his bedroom door slowly opened.

He remained glued to the floor in shock at what was happening, before a faint "hello?" grabbed him out of it.

With the speed of a jungle cat, Quasimodo bolted onto his feet, and, knowing it was too late to hide, backed himself towards the cold wall behind him.

The face that greeted him from behind the door was not of his master's, but of a young woman. Even amid his fright, he recognised her instantly as the chestnut-haired girl he had been admiring from his window earlier that evening. _What was she doing here?_

He watched as she gasped and leapt back a few paces in her fright at the sight of him. The boy took in her alarmed expression, but could do nothing to escape her stares. He was trapped. He attempted to cover his face with his trembling hands but knew this was futile now.

He desperately wished the wall behind him could free him of this terrifying misery in which this beautiful girl didn't have to be traumatised by the sight of his hideousness.

The stony silence was killing him.

He saw the girl's dark eyes momentarily glaze over the fallen chair in front of him, and then to carpet.

And then she spoke to him.

But what she had said was entirely lost to the hunchback. He was too drawn into his panic that both his hearing and logical mind failed him. It was his fight or flight mode that was the most heightened sense, but he couldn't seem to muster even fight nor flight at this point.

The cold water stain now uncomfortably gripping the front of his shirt was the only thing that succeeded in bringing him to his senses again. He was suddenly all too aware of his hands, and soon gave into his usual nervous instinct of wringing them together. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that his hands had turned a peculiar shade of green.

But before he had time to think what to do, he vaguely heard the girl's voice again, and this time he could discern what she had said.

It was the alarming site of the stranger now stepping towards him that had switched on something inside him, and a strong cry of protest escaped his lips before he had even known it had.

He just couldn't bear to have her stand any closer to him, to see his deformities in such plain sight. He still didn't know why she was still here, in his bedroom, but he was unfailingly determined to keep his distance from her until she left.

But to his utter amazement, she only nodded in response to his cry, as if in resignation.

She had not yelled at him, nor attempted to strike him. Was this a ruse? A ploy to her true intentions? He was so painfully confused, and upset that he couldn't gather the courage to talk to her. To understand why she was here. The knots in his stomach and throat seemed to be disabling his ability to speak.

But it was the girl again that went ahead with the talking.

"Well…I'm glad you aren't hurt. I-I'm really sorry that I just barged in on you like this," he heard her say.

This confused him even more. _Glad I'm not hurt?_ Why would she even care?

He remained frozen with his ceylon eyes still fixed on her, trying to decode what she meant, before he saw her retreat behind the door, and closing it gently.

He stared at the closed door, feeling the paint smeared on his hands drying quickly. But he didn't dare go to the bathroom to wash them through.

The ability to move and breathe seemed to have returned, and he tumbled to his desk in such a hasty fashion as though afraid the feeling in his body would instantly fail him again.

So many thoughts were penetrating his mind. One of the things he dreaded for most for his entire lonely life had just happened. A stranger had found him. They had seen his hideousness. And the worst thing of all was that he couldn't do anything about it. He was powerless to the girl's stares and obvious fright.

He rested his face in his hands, and subconsciously rubbed his fingers over the middle of his forehead. The image of the girl's terrified face refused to leave him.

" _Why_?" he said in a shaky, strained voice. He found himself saying the word a couple more times, with each one sounding more pained than the last.

Only when he took his hands away did he notice the wetness of his tears on his fingertips.

* * *

Quasimodo switched on the small lamp on his desk, seeing that it was growing too dark to make do without its light. Though its light was weak, the boy always found a small comfort in the warm hue it breathed into his otherwise cold room.

For the first time in his life, he did not turn to painting to help ease his pain or troubled mind. He hadn't bothered to even attempt to repair the painting that had been ruined earlier, but rather had left it lying on the floor pitifully behind him. He didn't care that his pots of paint remained fallen on their sides, or that their spilled contents had crept into the grains in his desk and were drying rapidly.

The whole time since the encounter earlier that evening, the young man had been able to do nothing but stare out his window. He had seen birds of many kinds land on rain gutters, roofs and branches, before flying away. He had seen mothers walk by, pushing babies in their prams. He had seen many cars drive by, and heard the faint bark of a dog, and the distant chatter of his neighbours.

There was life outside his small window, and it was plain to see, staring right back at him. But to him, this was a life he could only experience from the other side of that window.

He was exhausted, but though his eyes were tired, he knew any attempt to sleep would be useless. His mind was just too awake. His stomach was growling painfully and the boy wondered if the meeting would soon be over and he would finally be given food.

And almost as if on cue, the light from the downstairs hallway flooded the concrete of the front of the house, and several people emerged outside and into his view.

Quasimodo's stomach suddenly became fuzzy once he spotted the girl with the chestnut hair. She was hanging back from the quickly dispersing crowd, and seemed to be talking to someone who was inside the house.

Even now, after what had happened, he still couldn't help being enamoured by her beauty. It was much easier to notice when he didn't feel the burning humiliation and shame of having to subject her to his own ugliness.

Not enough time had passed for him to even remotely understand why she had come into his room. The only conclusion the boy had come to so far was that she was simply lost, and it was the shock of his appearance that had kept her from fleeing quickly.

It was only moments later when the concrete outside was cloaked in darkness once again, followed by the sound of the front door closing.

Quasimodo tried to trace the sounds of his master's movements. He was convinced Frollo would have heard his tumble earlier. This was sadly confirmed almost immediately when hard, deliberate footsteps carried to the upstairs hallway.

He heard his master stop outside his room, before quickly mentally and physically preparing himself for the beating that was to follow the slowly turning door handle.


	11. The Unanswered of the Unknown

**Sorry for taking so long to update!**

 **Thank you so much to the wonderful regular readers/reviewers, and to a new trooper- thank you, LostBoooii! All your kind words are so appreciated.**

 **And I totally hear your comment, LostBoooii, about the chapter length. They are a bit on the short side, I just prefer to keep the plot points quite succinct and spread out so that the exciting things don't happen all in one chapter. And I tend to be quite flowery with my writing, so keeping the chapters to a limit helps keep the writing focused and less likely to drag on unnecessarily. I hope this explains it! But I've tried to make this chapter a bit longer.**

 **But anyway, without further adieu...**

* * *

"Marienne…Marienne?...Marienne?"

"Marienne!"

"Hm?" replied the girl, lifting her head to the faces of Ines and Julia on the tables next to her. Marienne hadn't noticed she had been staring at her desk for the last few minutes, her chin resting in one delicate palm.

"Oh…sorry," she replied vaguely. "I didn't hear you."

Julia looked forward towards the teacher to check she wasn't looking in their direction before looking back at Marienne with a look of concern on her face.

"Are you alright?" She said this in a whisper once she had noticed the sharp eye of irritation their teacher had pointed in their direction.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Marienne replied, the dazed, almost distant voice now trailing away to allow her usual tone to take over. She pointed to the paper in front of her with her pen. "I was just…having a hard time understanding this question."

This of course was a lie, and she knew Julia and Ines knew it as well. The only thing she was having a hard time with was getting the extremely abnormal and unexpected events of yesterday evening at Rev. Frollo's house out of her mind.

She turned back to looking down at her desk, not even caring to notice the harsh mention of her name being called from the teacher in her annoyance at Marienne talking during class.

She could still feel her friend's eyes on her but she just gave them what she hoped was a smile of reassurance. They eventually returned to their own work.

Marienne couldn't place how that unexpected encounter with that poor misshapen boy had made her feel. She seemed to be feeling a hundred things at once. Shock. Disbelief. Concern. Pity. Curiosity.

Her curiosity was particularly strong. She still had so many burning questions. Questions regarding the boy himself; what his name was, how old he was, and, strongest of all: how he came to look like that. What had to happen to make someone look such a way? Was Frollo ashamed of him hence why she had never known the boy existed?

She had an overwhelming need for answers.

The initial shock of seeing the mysterious boy's appearance for the first time had certainly threw Marienne off guard. But, if anything, what surprised the young woman the most was how quickly it took for her to adjust to him.

Of course, she was humble enough to admit that were she to ever encounter him again, it would take a little time readjusting herself to his appearance. But she would never run away from him in fear. After all, what are a few deformities?

She could tell, upon meeting the boy, that he had expected her to run away in fear. Perhaps he even hoped for it.

The pity she felt for him now, seeing him back away into his bedroom wall in the hope that it would hide him, was crushing. To see such fear in those bottomless ceylon-emerald eyes was nothing short of heart-breaking.

The piercing cry of the bell jumped Marienne out of what seemed like the fiftieth daze she had had that day. And it was only 11am.

School that afternoon went by at a slow pace. Her lessons dragged on more than usual, and Marienne didn't feel there was much meaning to them today.

During lunch, she sat with Julia and Ines, joined today by Anne-Lise, and tried with more effort this time, to seem more invested in their literature conversations. As it was a nice afternoon, the 4 girls sat outside on the field with what seemed like the rest of the school. Marienne always appreciated the pleasant atmosphere that came with a sunny day.

At long last, the final bell of the day rang its shrill chimes through the corridors and classrooms.

Marienne had received hardly any homework to do from today and her parents wouldn't be home from work till after six, so she was looking forward to being able to relax the rest of the afternoon away in a quiet, empty house. She definitely felt like she could use a leisurely afternoon.

* * *

The following Sunday morning, Marienne walked briskly with her parents through the pelting of the rain to church. She was glad she had chosen warm clothing and boots.

Once up the steps, the three hurried through the large open church doors, relieved at the novelty of shelter. Being such a vast space, the Cathedral did not offer its guests the relief of solid warmth from the cold outside, but it was certainly bearable with the help of the numerous candles that surrounded them in their ornament holders, their flames dancing in the morning breeze.

The bells that rang loud and high above while everyone took their seats truly were the very soul of the Cathedral. Hearing them once again made Marienne smile. Their musical voices were harmonious yet at the same time so dominating.

But it wasn't the gradual quietening of the bells that made the girl lose her smile, but rather the sight of the tall, vulture-like stature of the priest.

Claude Frollo stood a few yards away from her, and seemed to be engaged in important conversation with another clergyman. She studied his movements and posture, instantly noticing him trying to assert his authority to the other man.

Marienne could hear her mother trying to get her attention and so she sat back and listened obediently, her eyes peeling away from Frollo.

The service, conducted as usual by Frollo, began as soon as the large doors behind them were closed, and the bells had sung their last quiet peal.

"Now," began the priest, in a manner so curt and forceful it was as though he was trying to wake someone up. "Let us turn to Proverbs; chapter 26 verse 25." He waited briefly for everyone to navigate to the page, before clearing his throat. "When he speaks graciously, believe him not; though his hatred be covered with deception, his wickedness will be exposed in the assembly."

He looked to the congregation in his typical appraising manner, letting these words spill out and take their mark. Marienne couldn't help smiling at the irony of the passage. Rev. Frollo was a man held at high respect and grace, but the girl saw the deception and wickedness in his heart, as though it was exposed right here, in the assembly of Sunday mass.

The worship that followed an hour or so later was always Marienne's favourite part of the service. Beautiful hymns that seemed to always sound like they had come straight from Heaven itself.

Marienne thought back to last Sunday where, at this point in the service, she had caught a glimpse of that strange shadow that had plagued her mind ever since.

Marienne subconsciously lifted her eyes to the top right balcony above them where she had spotted that mysterious figure. Or at least that's what she called it. It may not have been a figure at all, but perhaps an empty shadow distorted by the flickering candles.

But, she knew she was just fooling herself by thinking it a mere trick of the light. Marienne was a logical girl and not one to be naïve, and therefore would have believed this practical theory in its entirety. Yet it was the figure's clumsy, unsure movements that made her sure of it being something more. And, if anything, the fact that there is no such shadow despite the same amount of candles lining the spot sealed this idea.

She would have forgotten the whole incident from last week were it not for its shape that resembled everything but a human's.

Its shape was so clearly etched in her mind, and yet she still couldn't describe exactly what it looked like. Whatever it was, the closest thing she now had to compare it to was…

Wait.

Her head felt like it was on fire. Her face felt hot, and her fingers suddenly became tingly.

The shadow couldn't have really been… the scared misshapen boy she met on that fateful Bible study night.

Could it?

 _No of course not,_ she thought. It didn't appear the boy had ever left his house, judging by how terrified he was to see her. She doubted the poor thing had experienced any other human contact other than Frollo.

Marienne absentmindedly sat down with the others after the worship ended, but she could not pay attention to Frollo's final words of the mass.

* * *

Marienne soaked in her musings the following Tuesday evening as she walked the familiar path with her parents towards Reverend Frollo's house for her second Bible study.

She didn't mind that her parents wanted her to attend another meeting. She was happy she could please them, but, though she would never tell her parents this, she saw this as the perfect chance to talk to that boy.

She couldn't tell what had come over her the past week since meeting him. She had so much curiosity about him, and so many questions to ask. She was sure he had quite a story to tell too.

She had no idea why he seemed to interest her so much. But her curiosity and fascination with him wasn't like some people may have for a particularly strange attraction at a circus or museum. She was not the least bit repulsed by him now, nor was she frightened in any way. She just wanted to know more about him; for one thing, living with someone like Frollo would never be easy. But there was also that overwhelming pity and concern she felt for him. His eyes, so plainly terrified and confused, made her heart ache.

And then there was that mysterious shadowy figure in the balcony. Convinced now that her predictions were correct, the boy whose house she was about to enter was the very same figure who had so often plagued her mind. And yet, one thing still seemed to break the connection; if the boy never left his house as she assumed, he wouldn't have been at the cathedral. So many of these contradictions and unanswered questions swam in her mind.

The young woman trod the few steps up the faded, lifeless front garden towards the front door before instinctively looking up to the top tier in which the pitifully small window looked back at her. She eyed the hazy glass, hoping to catch some form of movement from within.

She knew he was just behind the glass, even if she couldn't see him.

"Good evening, please come in," spoke the priest to the three of them in his usual low, icy and unamused voice.

Marienne was greeted by the same noticeable chill that greeted her the last time she walked through Frollo's lifeless hallway towards the meeting room near the end.

It seemed the same amount of people from last week's meeting had made it to this one. She smiled politely to each passing face as she took a seat on what must be the same hard backed chair as last time. Smiling approachably at her parents, she opened her Bible.

The priest took his usual spot on the comfy brown leather chair facing the room and began the session.

Marienne knew what she would do to get out of the meeting, but timing was absolutely everything.

About half way through the session, Frollo stopped reading aloud to turn to a different chapter in his Bible.

 _Perfect_ , Marienne thought. Taking a deep, much needed breath, she spoke.

"S-sorry to interrupt, Father…"

"Yes," retorted the priest instantly, as though he had expected her to speak. He removed his reading glasses and eyed her apprehensively, silently appraising her.

Marienne spotted her parents watching her, annoyance etched clearly on their faces at their daughter interrupting another study. But something was urging the girl to finish this endeavour.

"S-sorry, sir…could I…please use your bathroom…please?" She couldn't have sounded more polite if she had tried. But she noticed how Frollo watched her with an air of silent but powerful contempt. She knew he was on to her. Did he know she had met his son?

The air in the stuffy room had turned to ice.

"Marienne," she heard her mother pleadingly whisper to her. But the priest merely held up a pale hand in dismissal.

"Now, now," he spoke in a false reassuring tone. "The girl may go."

Marienne rushed a thank you and headed for the door.

"But," began the priest again, breaking the stiff air. Marienne turned around apprehensively. "Only if she will return within five minutes."

The girl could have sworn she saw a hint of a sly, cunning smile etched on his thin lips.

"Of course," she replied simply. She knew without a doubt that he suspected something. Perhaps he did know she had met his son.

For once not giving her swarming thoughts and questions the time to be pondered, she hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She traced cautiously up the stairs, not taking her eyes off the dark upper hallway growing closer towards her with every step.

This is it. Finally, she can see him again. All the unanswered questions can now be settled.

She traced down the hallway, relying on the light from downstairs to guide her to where she remembered his door was.

As she stood staring at the closed door, back to where she was exactly a week ago, she tried to listen to any movement from within. And not surprisingly, there was silence.

But there was something that stopped her from knocking. What if he didn't want her there? What if he got scared again? He was clearly terrified of her being in his room last time, she would never want to put him in that position again.

But she only wanted to know him, to help him if she could. If he'd let her.

She closed her eyes, and before she even knew it, a clenched fist knocked a few times on the hard oak.

* * *

 **Quasi will feature in the next chapter, I promise! Just wanted to flesh out Marienne a bit more, and add some context to some things.**


	12. In a Place of Trust

**My apologies for another long stint of waiting. Busyness is a cruel mistress but I was finally able to find some time on the side. Hope you enjoy this latest installment!**

* * *

There was silence from the other side. She had expected this, but what she didn't expect was the sudden spark of light that faintly illuminated the bottom of the door.

She had the horrible sinking feeling that maybe he had been sleeping in the dark, and her knocks had woken him up.

She waited with apprehension, stealing glances to the stairs in case she had uninvited company. Marienne was very conscious of her allotted "five minutes" being drained with each second she feebly stood in the dark hallway.

But this instantly lost importance when a sound from inside the room drew her attention. It almost sounded as if someone had spoken something. As if the very person she had come to see had spoken something.

She hadn't been able to catch whatever it was that he had said. The girl continued to stand there, beginning to feel a bit silly at this point, but determined to listen for any more sound.

"Hello?" the girl eventually whispered to the oak door. "Is it alright to come in?"

She pressed an ear to the wood and listened. Nothing. Drawing a deep breath, as she had done while in the same position last week, she turned the round handle and opened the door.

Peering slowly to not frighten the boy, she scanned the small, weakly lit room that belonged to the person she had been so yearning to meet again.

"Hello?" she instinctively said again.

Just as last time, the response to her call came in the form of swift movement, but this time it came from her left side.

A feeble, shaky-looking bed stood in the far corner, and on it sat an equally shaky boy, sitting on a thin blanket with his large arms behind him to support his weight. The image of him on the bed confirmed Marienne's concern that he had indeed been sleeping. He looked just as shocked and terrified to see the girl as he had last time.

She had to admit, it surprised her how little the boy's very unusual appearance had on her now. All she could see was the fright on his twisted features. Then that horrid weight of guilt returned to Marienne as she took in his frightened expression.

"I-I'm so sorry to disturb you…" she immediately felt stupid saying this. If she didn't want to disturb him she wouldn't have burst into his room- for the second time.

A few long seconds of exchanged silences went by. She felt she may have to do the talking again. But then he spoke.

"I…" he began. His shaken voice was soft yet noticeably cautious. "I thought y-you were m-my…my…"

The girl watched him as he trailed off, clearly at a loss at what to call his master in front of a stranger. Yet Marienne was so engulfed in her excitement at being able to have a proper conversation with the strange boy for the first time, that it took her a few moments to realise he was having trouble finishing his sentence.

"Oh, yeah. Reverend Frollo," she finished. She pushed aside the image of him downstairs, expecting her back.

She saw the frightened young man nod slightly. Aside from the shaking, this was the only movement he seemed capable of doing. His fear seemed to lock his entire body into itself; his arms appeared stiff behind him and his large eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the girl in his doorway.

Now it was Marienne's turn to be at a loss for words. She wanted to say something, _anything_ , to make this situation less uncomfortable for the boy. Though the word uncomfortable seemed to be an understatement to describe him; if it wasn't for his shaking and fast breaths, he would pass for a very good statue.

She quickly perused the room's interiors, noting the dull grey carpet and green walls, the small, narrow wardrobe to her right and the small stack of old-looking books propped up against it. She noted the small window in the far-right corner that poured weak light onto a dingy worn wooden desk and hard-backed chair. By the chair on the floor she spotted what looked like spilled paint, that had dried well into the carpet's sinews.

She was endeared by the quiet charm of this room. It had a certain warmth and cosiness to it. And the boy was clearly an excellent housekeeper; aside from the paint stain on the carpet, the space was immaculate and obviously well looked after.

"Your room is lovely," she spoke simply, smiling at the boy. "Very cosy."

She could see the boy's posture relax slightly at her words, and was thrilled to see a sudden brightness in his face that had certainly not been there a few moments ago.

He momentarily looked around the small space with the tiniest hint of innocent glee on his twisted features at these unexpected words, before locking eyes back onto Marienne. Just like their last encounter, the girl was very aware that he seemed to still expect her to do something awful to him and thus felt the need to be on guard for it.

"Th-thank you," she heard him quietly say, his gaze dropping to the carpet. There was an unmistakable gentleness to the young man's voice. But it was a gentleness that was shrouded in fear and uncertainty.

She smiled again. Desperate to help the boy become more comfortable, she eyed the meagre stack of books beside her, just about making out the title on the top book.

"Oh, Richard the Third. I love that play," she announced excitedly, examining what she could see of the cover from her spot. She found it becoming easier to talk to the unusual boy. "'Now is the winter of our discontent'," she recited with a small laugh.

The boy blinked at her. "Y-yeah," he eventually replied in that same small, unsure voice. "M-made glorious summer by this sun of York."

The amazement and thrill the girl felt from what she had just heard from that timid voice was almost unbearable. She whisked her head to the boy in disbelief and caught a hint of a smile on his lips.

He was talking to her, and actually _wanting_ to talk to her. She couldn't have been happier.

She excitedly closed the door and stepped a few more paces into the room towards the boy.

"It's so good isn't it? I read this a few years back at school, and it got me liking other Shakespeare works. I immediately fell in love with them. Do you have a favourite Richard the Third quote?"

But then she saw the hunchback's face morph back into that familiar look of terror at seeing her walking towards him, and she had to catch herself.

"Oh," she said as she froze, "I'm sorry." All the boy did was blink at her in response. The air of cold, uncomfortable silence fell back into the room. "I really don't mean to hurt you," she said delicately. "I'm not here to do any harm to you. I promise. Please, what's your name?"

The boy continued to hesitate, absently shuffling the ends of the thin blanket he sat on with his feet. She noticed him biting his lower lip as though conflicted whether to tell her.

"Mine's Marienne," she said, in the hope that it might get the ball rolling. He only looked up at her in response.

And then, he spoke one word. "Quasimodo." He looked back down at the carpet in front of him with sadness in his eyes. "That's m-my name."

Marienne didn't know how to respond to such a name. Quasi-Modo. What a name. She had never heard of it before. No one she knew had even remotely as unusual a name as he did. She knew the word 'Quasi' meant half or almost. Her thoughts paused at this. She didn't want to know what Modo stood for if that was what half of his name meant.

She suddenly felt sick. She couldn't begin to comprehend how a parent could deem it acceptable to give their child a name that suggested them as an 'almost.' A someone who is not quite right, not quite normal.

And then the most sickening thought of all came into her head. The only parent the boy seemed to have was none other than Reverend Frollo. Hot anger burned in her stomach towards the priest, a new-found anger that far outweighed the mere dislike she generally felt towards him.

Reverend Frollo had burdened this poor, innocent boy with this cruel, hideous name. Why? As some form of sick joke?

She now didn't care that she hadn't returned to the study downstairs within her allotted five minutes. What little respect and tolerance she had for the priest was diminished there and then.

Marienne could never voice her angered thoughts about his name to Quasimodo, so she merely nodded and smiled at him in response.

"I-I'm sorry if I woke you," she spoke as her gaze fell back to the bed. She was eager to change the subject.

There was another few moments of silence before the hunchback softly spoke. "Y-you didn't w-wake me."

As he looked at her, Marienne only now noticed the tiredness in his eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept properly in years. She remembered from their first encounter the beauty of those bottomless ceylon, emerald eyes. But as she looked into them now, she couldn't ignore the dark shadows that circled them, nor the slight redness in the corners.

What concerned her most, having studied him properly, was the angry bruise and cut on his right temple and brow. It looked somewhat fresh, perhaps a few days old. And it looked painful.

How in the world did he get that? She had so much pity for him that it hurt. She wanted so much to comfort him, to sit beside him on that rickety bed and tell him that he is not alone and he doesn't have to be afraid.

But most of all, she wanted him to believe it.

She was pondering what to say next, when her curious gaze fell upon the desk in the corner which she only now noticed was draped in numerous sheets of paper.

"What's this?" She mused in what she hoped was a cheery tone. She walked the few short steps across the room to the desk and peered over.

The sight she was greeted with couldn't be put into words. At least not coherent ones.

Upon first inspection, what adorned the sheets of paper appeared to be photographs of a Poplar tree, a bird, a Rose bush, a single Autumn leaf, a butterfly balanced on a blade of grass, a beautiful sunset, two dancers, and a moon against a star-filled sky.

But it didn't take long for Marienne to realise that these weren't photographs at all, but paintings. The exquisite detail within the bark of the Poplar Tree, the motion in the dancers' poses, and the use of colour to show the sunset's regal splendour were too exquisite to be mere photographs. These pictures so evidently held a power that could only be created from a strong imagination.

"What-" she whispered, incredulous.

The girl observed with wide, disbelieving eyes the intricate yet elegant lines of amber and gold on the Autumn leaf, the serenity captured in the Butterfly's wings and the star-filled sky, the incomparable beauty of the Rose bush, and the spirit and life of the bird that so gracefully perches on a branch.

She picked up the painting of the bird to study it closer. "These are…" she continued, struggling to find the words to describe what she was seeing.

"W-wait, n-n-no," suddenly came a voice from behind her, drawing closer. "Please, don't, I-I-"

Marienne turned around and jumped at the sight of Quasimodo mere inches from her. He instinctively drew back, mumbling a quiet apology.

"Sorry, sorry," Marienne conceded, placing the picture of the bird back carefully on the desk. She mentally hit herself for being so inconsiderate with another's possessions, particularly such obviously precious ones. "But, seriously. These are absolutely beautiful."

Quasimodo answered her with a soft smile, which Marienne thought made him look very endearing. "Th-they just h-help pass the time," he eventually spoke. He proceeded to gather his paintings and place them carefully in the top draw of the desk. Marienne couldn't help noticing his pronounced limp as he did so, as though one leg was shorter than the other.

"Well, you're incredibly talented…Quasimodo." She had initially paused before bringing herself to use his punishing name.

This deformed boy of which she had only been talking properly with for a few minutes had already shown himself to be intelligent, sensitive and now, a very talented artist.

Her eyes then landed on the small window above the desk, and she could make out the Poplar tree outside, standing tall and proud, as well as the Rose bush in the opposite neighbour's front garden, and the birds perched on the rain gutters. These everyday things will never know how much they have helped in the creation of one of the most beautiful pieces of art she had ever seen.

And it made sense. These things were part of his own everyday. And it made it even more astonishing that he had created a whole other world from a limited view through that small window.

She wanted to stay up here talking with him for the rest of the evening, and more. She still had so many questions, but the image of her disappointed parents from downstairs at a wayward daughter forced her to push her desires aside. She was also very aware that Quasimodo still looked uncomfortable with having her remain so long in his room. She had a strong suspicion she was the first person other than the priest to step foot in his room.

"I'm sorry again for bothering you up here, but thank you for humouring me," she quipped. "I should probably get back downstairs, but it really has been a pleasure talking with you, Quasimodo. But I truly am sorry I disturbed you."

"N-no," the young man said quietly. "I…i-it was…lovely." His voice was timid and, again cautious, but the brightness in his eyes spoke of so much more. Though unused to her company, Marienne could tell he was grateful for it.

She headed for the door and opened it, but hesitated for a moment. "Can…can I come back again?" She subconsciously held her breath as she waited for the boy's response.

Quasimodo blinked at her in apparent disbelief. "Why?" he asked warily with furrowed brows.

"Well…I'd like to see you again. If I may."

It took the boy a while to find his voice. "…Ok."

"Great," Marienne said, beaming. "See you soon."

She gave the hunchback one last reassuring smile and disappeared round the other side of the door into the dark hallway again, before trailing back down the stairs to the study.

She didn't know how long she had been away, but she didn't care. She had never felt this elated in all her life. So many things had just happened and she was feeling so many emotions. She couldn't wait to see him again.

Arriving back at the Bible study, Marienne instantly felt the priest's penetrating eyes on her, following her as she found her seat. But again, she didn't care. She merely smiled an innocent smile at his suspicious gazes. The only thing that mattered to her was that she could see Quasimodo again. And this time, she was invited.

* * *

 **In the next few chapters, Quasi will be coming out of his shell more and more..**


	13. Forbid and Forget

**Welcome KayJane 16! it's lovely to have you, thank you for your kind and generous review!**

* * *

Quasimodo could do nothing but stare at the closed door that the visitor had disappeared through, and try to take in what had just happened.

Twice she had come to him. He had assumed she had stumbled into his room accidentally the first time, but why she had chosen to see him a second time, the boy could not fathom. And he could not let go of one thing; she had met him with the most unexpected of reactions. Kindness. Pure kindness.

She hadn't drawn back at the sight of him, not even a flinch. And she had talked to him in a manner that didn't treat him as anything less than an equal.

Marienne. That was her name. He smiled at the sound of it on his quiet lips.

He let out a heavy sigh that helped ease the shaking he only now noticed.

It wasn't long until the boy heard the routine flurry of voices from the downstairs hallway, followed by the inevitable pool of light that spilled onto the dark canvas outside.

Sitting at his desk, Quasimodo curiously craned his neck and peered outside his window, hoping to spot who he was looking for.

And as if on cue, she appeared in that pool of light. A gentle smile adorned his lips as he watched her again, his eyes welcoming every flash of her dimples as she smiled, every dancing wisp of wavy chestnut hair in the evening breeze, and each delicate sparkle in her eyes that became beautifully illuminated by the porch light.

He continued to watch as she faded away into the darkened street and eventually out of sight.

His soft gaze remained on that patch of night that the girl had succumbed to, and without hesitation, pulled out a new sheet of paper and clean paintbrush, allowing a creative mind to once again revel in the opportunities of a blank canvas.

* * *

Everything was still and silent outside, so nothing could disturb the sleeping hunchback. He had painted well into the night, perfecting the last flourishes of his latest masterpiece when he finally gave in to the open, inviting arms of sleep.

Too tired to walk to his bed, Quasimodo sought comfort from the hard-topped desk.

His much-needed slumber was so deep, perhaps the deepest it had been in a long while, that he was oblivious to the sound of his door slowly opening to reveal the blackened form of Rev. Frollo.

The priest stepped into the modest room, his thin shadow stretched by the warm glow of the desk lamp's weak rays.

Next to the lit lamp he spotted the resting boy; face hidden by a mass of thick, red hair as his head rested on two thick, muscular arms crossed over one another on the desk.

Frollo traced the boy's soft, peaceful breathing.

He glided slowly up to the desk and glowered disapprovingly at his misshapen charge.

The priest then studied with narrowed, displeasing eyes the visible lines of Quasimodo's latest painting. He couldn't make out a picture from what was visible beneath large motionless arms, but waves of chestnut and the tip of a delicately painted slender hand confirmed the priest's suspicions.

"Quasimodo," he said in a loud, firm voice.

The priest watched as the young man before him grunted tiredly before opening his eyes slowly. They became like saucers once realisation hit of who had stirred him.

"O-oh," Quasimodo cried as he bolted upright, staring into his master's cruel eyes. "I-I-I-I'm so sorry, I-I-I didn't know y-you were there…"

The silent priest continued to watch his charge busy himself trying to look presentable for his waiting guardian.

"Boy, tell me, what is that?" Frollo relayed tersely with an imposing patience in his strong voice, gesturing to the painting that had temporarily been Quasimodo's pillow.

The boy looked down apprehensively at his creation and only scratched his forearm in nervous response. "O-oh…" he eventually got out. "W-well…I-"

"Enunciate, for goodness sake boy!"

"I-I-I had r-run out of ideas…a-a-and I thought sh-she…" Quasimodo couldn't for the life of him think of an answer that would leave him unharmed by Frollo's cruel hand. He didn't want Frollo to know about his encounter with Marienne. But he was completely cornered by the priest seeing as he already seemed to have his suspicions about the two.

"P-Please I-I saw her outside and I…I just thought she'd…m-make a good painting," he spoke gently. This wasn't exactly lying. He had got the inspiration from watching her after she had left his room.

Frollo eyed his ward, waiting for any slip up or reveal in the boy's terrified face.

"Quasimodo, it is imperative that you know this. That girl shall be none of your concern. She will only use you, torment you, and hurt you. I will expect you to dismiss her if she ever tries to see you."

Did his master already know of his encounters with her? The boy tried to gather any hint of this from his master's icy expression. But the priest's stone face never hinted at anything he didn't want to be known. Frollo was always in total control.

Quasimodo merely blinked at his guardian, surprised It was a far cry from his treatment of the boy on that day he had snuck from the bell tower into the cathedral. But his words hurt just as much.

"I-I understand, master," the hunchback said, meekly. Though he could not understand how her kindness towards him could ever hurt him.

"I'm afraid next time it won't be just a talk, were you to allow her into your life, Quasimodo." Frollo's eyes flickered cruelly to the bruise on the hunchback's temple. If that worked for keeping him in the bell tower during mass, it would work again when necessary.

"Y-yes, master."

"Get some sleep, Quasimodo."

The priest gave him an icy smile, which remained on his face as he glided back out the room to leave the downcast hunchback staring down longingly at the only version of Marienne he could ever see again.

* * *

Marienne couldn't remember the last time she had had as much of an enjoyable time at school as she had for the rest of the week.

When she had woken on Wednesday morning, she awoke with the undoubtable feeling of elation. This elated feeling had not left her since that first proper conversation she had shared with the strange boy the previous night.

To her recollection, she had only felt this happy on three other occasions; being able to finally ride her bike without stabilisers, receiving a state of the art, and very expensive, quill and parchment set for her 11th birthday, and when she met the three people she could call her friends in her second year of high school.

In hindsight, the events of last night meant more to her than those occasions. Of course, she valued her friendship with Anne-Lise, Leslie and Caitlin, and she would never part with her quill and parchment set.

But this joy that she felt on that cold Autumn Wednesday morning was stronger this time.

Her incessant good mood during that week had made her lessons very enjoyable, and she felt more involved in her small group at break and lunchtimes. And it was because of him.

Quasimodo.

Her ability to get used to the hunchback's appearance came far quicker than will be her ability to get used to his unfortunate and upsetting name.

The second she had got home from the priest's house, she located an old Latin dictionary her mum had given her years ago. The thick layer of dust that lay on its surface screamed that it was money well spent.

She passed briefly over the word 'quasi,' and was satisfied with confirmation of her earlier musings. Flicking through the 'M' section of the book, she eventually found 'modo,' with its translation marked next to it. She frowned at the page. Her earlier musings again confirmed, but this brought her no satisfaction this time.

 _Half-formed_. She could feel the anger in her eyes, showing itself in the form of thick, empathic tears.

The poor boy. To be cursed with an appearance like his, and through no fault of his own, only to be followed with an equally unfortunate name. It was unforgivable.

It had to be nothing more than a cruel joke from the one she already despised, but found a good reason to despise even more. She didn't dare guess what her malice for the priest would make her do when she saw him at morning mass on Sunday.

Indeed, her good mood throughout the week came to a standstill on that Sunday morning, as she followed the aural footsteps of the bells with her parents towards the Cathedral.

She spent the short walk trying to let calm thoughts and images warm her mind. She knew deep down that she would never bring herself to openly call out the priest, but this was still a needed precaution.

"Everything alright, Marie?" asked her father, slowing down to join her pace next to her.

Marienne always loved it when her father called her that. That was his name for her when she was younger or when he was in a good mood, but had become a rarity in recent years. But this made it all the more meaningful and special on those few occasions when he did show her affection through that name.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied simply, staring at the path ahead of hear intently. Her father using the rare pet name for her and his obvious concern for her had in fact cheered her up slightly.

He softly rubbed her back, and the girl returned him an appreciative smile. There was more in that simple gesture than there would be with words.

"I'm proud of you."

Marienne looked up again at her father, taking in these unexpected and unexplained words. He merely smiled at her. Any malice the girl had been feeling towards the priest in her stomach was vanished in that instant. A warm sensation, not dissimilar to the elation she had felt during the week, washed over her as the three walked in a comfortable silence to the Cathedral.

Marienne took her seat next to her parents as usual in the Cathedral's nave, and fixed unforgiving eyes on the priest standing at the front, who radiated nothing but cold authority.

"This morning," he began. "I have a few announcements that I am required to relay to you." Marienne watched as he eyed the congregations through his reading glasses, revealing in those black eyes a deep displeasure at having to read out such petty announcements when real mass should be taking place.

"Now, first. Our organist, Mr Blitcher, has requested I leave up a sign-up sheet were anyone of you wanting to seek lessons." There was irritation and disinterest dripping from his every word as he read the proceeding notices.

"And finally," he let an impatient sigh escape his cold lips before continuing. "We have our annual Festival of Fools taking place in our church square next week." It was this announcement that Frollo seemed to have the most disdain for.

"No doubt you have seen flyers and leaflets around the city." Frollo took his glasses off and eyed the crowd point blank. "Even with much fair reasoning, the committee still insists to host the... _event_ each year. I therefore implore each of you who sit here this morning in the house of God, to remain steadfast and loyal to our Lord as the festivities engulf our cherished city."

The priest gripped the side of the table. "We must not lose ourselves to frivolity. But walk in the light that Him, and only Him, can give us."

Frollo let a long silence take hold of the nave, relishing as his words sank in to his congregants.

Marienne was not surprised that this was on the agenda. She had walked past several large bright coloured Festival of Fools posters pinned to various noticeboards in the school hallways throughout the week.

To her, it was the highlight of the year. Of course, there were many different festivals that graced the city each year; the beer and wine festivals, the food festival, the arts and culture festival, the music festival.

But there was no festival quite like the Festival of Fools.

The festival had been a part of Paris' history for many, many years. And for as long as she had been alive, she never missed a year. She loved seeing the multi-coloured bunting that seemed to appear out of nowhere that lined the Parisian streets. She loved to marvel at the bright costumes of stilt walkers, acrobats, jugglers, and street performers. She loved to smell the wonderful exotic aromas from the many food stalls, and listen to the music from new and out of town artists.

There was an unlimited amount of amusement attractions, rides and games; helter skelter, high striker, dunk the monk, fun house, a giant bouncy Cathedral, and the King or Queen of Fools contest which seems to be increasingly popular each year, and one which perhaps brought the most entertainment.

Marienne remembers with amusement that her English teacher, Mr Keeble, won it last year and got to be paraded around and treated like a king for the entire day. He had only just recently stopped jokingly gloating about it.

The fact is that anyone can be anyone at the Festival of Fools.

She enjoyed the festival so much more because she could attend with her friends. She loved sharing the thrill and excitement of it all with them. No parents to judge or tell her off. No homework. No rules. For this one day, she could be independent and carefree. She could have fun.

Smiling to herself excitedly as she listened to Rev. Frollo recite the beginnings of that week's Bible passage, Marienne began counting down the days.

* * *

 **I knew Frollo was a bit too smart to think that Marienne's trips to the 'bathroom' were just that...**


	14. A Feeling most Foreign

**Guyyys your comments are so so lovely, thank you all so much! It means so much that you're enjoying this story! So here is a new chapter sooner than usual, albeit a short one. But we all want to get to the action right?**

 **Anyway, bye for now, and hope you enjoy this one...**

* * *

With one swift, strong tug, Quasimodo brought Notre Dame's bells out of their slumber. Their iron bodies swung in practiced, harmonious motions; letting their loyal conductor guide them in their heavenly songs.

The young man knew when every dolce or forte should be, and he knew of every needed refrain. His weakening hearing was thankfully never a problem for this task.

Quasimodo rang the great bells, calling the citizens of Paris to another Sunday morning of worship. As usual, he spotted far below the ill-defined forms of people gathering on the steps outside, before they slowly disappeared into the church. He rang the bells for as long as he could see them.

Several minutes had gone by, and with the steps bare, he swung the last few notes, letting the iron voices carry themselves into soft cadences.

Finally jumping down onto the raised platforms below, Quasimodo smiled up at them as they swayed gently, as if silently thanking them for their beautiful music.

It was a cold, grey morning. But despite the chilly air resonating within the tower, the arduous task always kept Quasimodo immune to its bite.

After completing his second routine task of cleaning and sweeping the bell tower, the hunchback walked over to a clearing in the tower's boarded walls and looked out onto the city. The view from his perch really was breath-taking.

Despite the unpromising and early morning, he could still spot a healthy number of Parisians lining the square and side streets. The Sunday venders had their stalls already stocked and open for business on the square, and there were already passers-by admiring their supply.

Sunday was Quasimodo's favourite day of the week. No one ever seemed to be in a rush to be anywhere, and no one was scolding one another. The relaxed atmosphere always reached Quasimodo, and as he leaned on a beam, he sighed contently.

* * *

But sitting at his desk the morning after, he was anything but content. Sitting miserably and more hunched than usual, Quasimodo tried to busy himself by re-reading one of the few books he had been given. Ever since Frollo had spotted his picture of Marienne, Quasimodo hadn't felt much like painting.

'To Kill a Mocking Bird' was one of his favourites, and had always been the most successful read when needing to escape or distract his restless mind. But this was proving difficult to do this time. He traced over the words but they just couldn't sink in.

Quasimodo had a suspicion that it was around that time of year again; it was usually in Autumn, not to mention the people outside his window seemed in better spirits than usual. But it still hurt just the same when yesterday he had accidentally stumbled upon Frollo's bag of Festival of Fools posters in the hallway.

The priest did this every year. The hunchback was very aware of Frollo's hatred of the festival, and he knew of his habit of ripping down every poster and flyer he could find. But seeing the open bag of half ripped images of people having the time of their lives, and the fun attractions, only reminded him of yet another thing he would miss.

But it wasn't just any other thing. It was the Festival of Fools. Every year he would spot from his small window the parades going past his house, the performers dancing and waving along to the music and cheering crowds. Every year he would hear the mega phone in the distance announce more exciting events lined up. Every year he would see children walking back at night with their families with face paint, ice creams and the biggest smiles on their faces. Every skip in their excited steps telling him of the best day they had just had.

Every year he watches, and every year the pain grows at the fact that his small window is the closest he can ever get to be a part of it.

A scar in the lower corner of his right eye, faint from years of healing, will always be a painful reminder of the first time a young Quasimodo asked his master to attend the festival.

 _You know what will happen, Quasimodo_. _Can't you understand?_ _Do you think they will show kindness to a wretch like you? You will be nothing but a mockery. You are nothing but a monster, Quasimodo._

He hadn't been able to get these harsh words out of his head to this day.

A life of almost complete imprisonment will always be difficult for the hunchback, but he made a vow on that day that if he could abandon his lonely life just once, and experience the wonders that Paris has to offer, he would thereafter be content. And what better way to spend that freedom than on the one event of the year where anyone can be anyone, and where different is celebrated.

But every year his chance came, and every year it went. In all his 17 years, not once did he attempt to join the festivities, even when his heart yearned for it so much that it pained him. He knew exactly why.

 _You are nothing but a monster_.

His master's words will always stay with him, the overwhelming truth behind them chaining him to this restricted life more than his master's insults ever could. No one would ever accept a monster, so what was the point in trying.

But then there was her. When Marienne had looked into his eyes, she did not flinch; when he expected her to flee in fear, she walked towards him; when he expected a blow, she asked if he was alright; and when he expected insults, she gave him compliments.

She didn't seem to see him as a monster. He had never been treated with such gentleness and compassion. What if his master's words were wrong? If Marienne could accept him, why not others?

Quasimodo closed his book and looked out his window, letting the thoughts take full hold of him. He suddenly felt a flicker in his chest as these thoughts became stronger, and it was that one flicker that told of a very foreign feeling. Hope.


	15. Just For One Day

**I can only apologise for such tardiness in my updating as of late! Just busy, busy and more busy. BUT, here it is, the moment you've been waiting for! (well, nearly) And thank you to LeslieTheSorceress for such a kind and thoughtful review, it's lovely to have you!**

 **Aaand here we go...**

* * *

A dull, dreary morning greeted Marienne as she stirred; the chilling whistle of the wind outside her window encouraging her to remain wrapped in her covers. But the shrill cry of her alarm clock was enough to lure her begrudgingly from her warm confinements.

It was still a couple of days till the weekend, but she was in a good mood.

The promise of the Festival of Fools being just around the corner had kept her going this week.

Opening her curtains and stopping to peer outside, she heard distant sounds of the festival already being set up. Being so close to the square afforded such experiences. Leaning to her right she spotted a number of large lorries parked in side roads, their robust backdoors opened to reveal colourful piles of unmade rides and attractions, just waiting to be enjoyed.

Walking home from school that afternoon, she took a detour through the square and was not disappointed when she saw the new developments that had not been there that morning. She eyed a few other townsfolk that had paused their afternoon activities to obverse the creations.

It was such a contrast to how the square usually looked, and this was partly why she looked forward to the festival every year. To Marienne, it brought a new light to the city. A light that sparkled in the promise of excitement and cheer.

She lifted her eyes to follow a long line of multi-coloured fairy lights dangling from an invisible wire that snaked endlessly round the entire square. Despite being off, Marienne could already see their splendour. Neighbouring the lights was an equally endless trail of brightly coloured bunting. Marienne smiled when she noticed the bunting had even been tied to the great Cathedral at the other end.

These decorations rose high above multiple side market stalls, placed neatly next to one another. Adjacent to these stood an assortment of exotic looking arcade games and large striped tents that Marienne guessed housed more exciting attractions.

The girl passed by the helter skelter, the dunk the monk, the high striker, the fun house. She passed a large pile of patterned nylon that would transform into a bouncy Cathedral come Saturday.

She peered excitedly to a few yards ahead where an assortment of large scary-looking rides were folded in on themselves. To the left she spotted the grand wooden stage, positioned dead in the centre of the square, the towering Cathedral becoming its magnificent backdrop.

Marienne could already hear the screams of the rides, and smell the tempting aromas of the food stalls. Every year she bought herself a souvenir, and this year would be no exception.

Marienne could hear excited chatter in the distance. She smiled at the delight this festival seemed to have instilled in everyone.

* * *

"Make sure you stick with Ines, Julia and…the third one, what's her-?"

"Anne-Lise."

"Right. Make sure you stay with them at all times, Marienne. And if you get lost, use your phone. So, you'll need to have it on full charge beforehand."

The girl's mother raised her eyebrows at her daughter expectantly. "Yes?"

"Yes," replied Marienne automatically. She dabbed her fork into her spaghetti and heard a small huff of annoyance from her mother when some tomato sauce landed on the girl's school blouse.

"And take a coat, particularly when it gets dark. And it'll be busy so careful where you step."

"Yes," recited the girl again, dabbing at her shirt with a napkin.

"And don't talk to anyone you don't know. And get a wet cloth, for goodness sake!"

Marienne nodded her acknowledgement, a large mouthful of spaghetti rendering her mute, and went to the kitchen to fetch one. Sitting back down, she dabbed at the stain carefully.

"I know, I know," announced her mother wearily, dropping her fork and sitting back in her chair. "I sound like a broken record. But you know how I feel about these things. Minister Frollo expressed his concerns for the festival just this morning to me."

"Doesn't surprise me," Marienne retorted under her breath, getting up again to put the cloth back, before resuming her dinner.

She studied her daughter disapprovingly, before relaxing her brow. "But, I can't stop you."

Marienne smiled at her appreciatively.

"But I _can_ make sure you keep a level head, and not do anything reckless," her mother added, eyeing the wet stain on Marienne's blouse.

Marienne had been so engulfed by the delights of the upcoming festival that it had been a few days since she had thought about the priest. And by extension, Quasimodo.

She hadn't told anyone about her meetings with the deformed boy. Not even her friends. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't know where to begin.

She couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy in her stomach every time she thought of him, or when an image of his forlorn expression and tired turquoise eyes crossed her mind.

Marienne knew she wouldn't be able to see him until after the festival. That is, if she could pull off her usual farce with the priest again. Picturing that knowing glint in his beetle black eyes, she doubted with great sadness that she would be successful this time.

If she ever wanted to see Quasimodo again, she had to find a better way.

Reading on her bed that evening, she could still hear the sounds of festival trucks reversing, of forklifts carrying heavy equipment, and of people shouting instructions to one another.

She got up and walked towards her window. _He would love it_ , she lazily thought, as she stared out at the darkness outside. If only she could reach him, to invite him to join her. She smiled to herself when picturing the light of glee etched on his face at the spectacle surrounding him. She could see the joy and thrill in his eyes so clearly.

"He would love it," she heard herself say aloud.

* * *

The day of the Festival of Fools had finally arrived, and the excitement it brought in the Parisians was contagious.

It had spread to the young man standing on the pavement beside the square, watching the festivities unfolding before him like an excited child at a circus. A smile of nothing but innocent delight graced his otherwise frightening features.

This was it. At last. He could enjoy the festival without anyone holding him back. In this moment, he had never felt so free.

Quasimodo didn't even have to think before he realised he was now standing in the centre of the square.

His eyes were as wide as saucers, eager to see as much as possible from the extravagance that surrounded him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the enticing aromas of sweet and savoury treats fill his senses.

The music, the smells, the sights were of things he had never encountered in his life. He knew there would never be enough time to fully savour them.

The boy opened his eyes and found that he was facing a group of teenagers huddled together and talking excitedly to one another. Though most of their faces were oddly blurred, there was one face that stood out clearly. Quasimodo would recognise those beautifully delicate features and wavy chestnut hair anywhere.

"Marienne," he said excitedly, the delighted smile returning to his face.

The girl's eyes darted to him and locked onto his own. Quasimodo watched as she stared at him for a few moments. He was beginning to wonder if she didn't recognise him.

But before he could help her out, her face suddenly contorted into a look of pure horror, before letting out a piercing scream.

Quasimodo staggered in alarm. "No, wait!" He pleaded, approaching her slowly as though approaching a frantic tiger. "It's me, Marienne," he said, softly.

"Get away from me, you hideous freak!" she shouted at him. His heart sank at the look of pure hatred and fright in those dark brown eyes.

His mouth suddenly felt dry once he noticed that Marienne's cries had drawn a large crowd, and it was snaking around him menacingly. He looked around wildly, trying to find an exit from the many bodies that seemed to be getting tighter and nearer to him.

He felt utterly powerless. He attempted to fight his way through them but they only pushed him back to the middle.

"Get away from us, hunchback!" he heard someone shout from behind him.

"Disgusting wretch!"

"Hideous monster!"

The cruel words thrown from the crowd sent the frightened boy into a whirl of panic. He could no longer see Marienne in the mass of blur.

He squeezed his eyes shut and raised his trembling hands to cover his face, but this did nothing to block out the jeering and raining insults engulfing him. He could feel his racing heart thumping in his ears. He could taste blood.

"I did nothing!" Quasimodo shouted, but it only came out as a hoarse whisper. "Leave me alone!" He attempted again, but only a scared, strangled voice came out.

Both the thumps of his heart, and the jeering crowd were growing louder. He could no longer feel his feet on the ground. It felt like he was floating, and it was uncomfortable. He dared not open his eyes.

"Stop it!" he kept on repeating. But no words were coming out now.

Amid the noise of the crowd came an abrupt, loud crash. It jolted Quasimodo, instantly taking away the harsh noises and the uncomfortable weightlessness, and leaving nothing but an empty silence and a throbbing pain in the side of his neck.

The boy opened his eyes to a dark room. He blinked a few times to allow them to adjust to the early morning light. He could just make out the outline of his wardrobe, and in the corner, his small window and the edge of a desk bathed in its faint light.

Full conscious awareness had now returned to him. He breathed a long sigh of relief. _Just a dream_ , he thought to himself.

The nightmare he had just woken from seemed to have shaken him to his core. He released a sweaty palm from a strong grip on the edge of his bed that he only just realised he had been tightly holding onto.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, and could feel droplets of cold sweat brushed over his forehead and temples. He put the same hand to his chest, noting his fast heartbeat and breathing.

The throbbing pain in his neck only worsened as he slowly lifted his head up to check the time on his alarm clock. Upon seeing a bare bedside table, Quasimodo peered over the side and frowned at the slightly blurred sight of his worn-out clock flown face down across the floor several inches away. The source of the crash.

He fell back in resignation. He didn't really need to check the time on his clock; he was always able to make an accurate assumption by measuring the light levels outside his window. He knew he had only a few minutes before he would be needed to ring the bells for the morning Angelus.

Lying on his side, he began to rub at the painful side of his neck, trying to stretch out the stiff muscles. Most sleeping positions were painful for him due to his hump, and would often leave him with a stiff neck or shoulders in the morning.

He let out another exhale, feeling his heart now slowing down to a normal rhythm.

Quasimodo hadn't had a dream that vivid in quite some time. He had had many horrible dreams before, but never one quite as visceral. It had revealed his deepest fears.

The hateful faces of the jeering crowd, the unmistakable terror in Marienne's eyes, and the feeling of absolute helplessness were clouding his mind. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as the look of hate on Marienne's face became clearer.

He squeezed his eyes in a bid to get rid of the hurtful images, failing to notice the moisture in his eyes until it came down his cheeks in soft trickles. He wiped them away and tried to focus his mind on the present.

In a few hours, he'd be able to hear them setting up more attractions and rides for the festival tomorrow.

The previous evening, he had been taken out of his reading by the sounds outside of the people crafting the rides and stalls, rigging the lights, and bolting down the stage. He could already hear the excitement of some children as they walked past the workers.

Quasimodo had peered out his window and could spot very vaguely in the far right distance, the glow of the festival lights that hung like floating orbs around the square and scaled up the side of the cathedral. He could spot the numerous workers reciting instructions to one another as they assembled the larger rides.

It had been so thrilling to witness, and yet at the same time, so utterly shattering. It would be just another year of watching. Of watching the excitement on the Parisian's faces as they follow the parades to the square; of hearing the music from a distance; of imagining what the patisserie and sweet stalls would smell like.

Quasimodo lay in bed, the stiffness in his neck lessening. But the hurtful images remained strong, rotating in his head like a perpetual carousel of torture.

But he was tired of feeling fearful. He didn't want to be scared of outside; of people; of the unknown. Maybe there was nothing to be fearful of at all? Marienne had already shown him that he could be accepted by someone other than his master, despite what his dreams might tell him.

Now sitting on the edge of his bed, feet on the cold hard floor, he looked to the corner at his window, then down to his desk at which he always sat.

There were two whole worlds contained in his line of vision; one of limitations, and repetition and a miserable existence sitting at his desk, staring at another world outside his window that brought the promise of an adventure, and the gift of endless opportunity, even if just for one day.

That glimmer of hope that had rested in his chest a few days ago had suddenly taken hold of him again.

"Even if just for one day," he said to himself with a smile as he looked out his window.

* * *

 **I wanted to draw a few parallels just for fun between Marienne and Quasi's side of the story- they both live pretty close to the square, they enjoy reading, they have pretty low self-esteem (quasi's much lower), they tend to look out their windows a lot, and seem to talk to themselves!**

 **I also deliberately didn't put that much detail when describing the Festival in Quasi's dream. He had never been so his understanding of the festival was superficial at best.**


	16. Everything is Upsy Daisy

**Welcome welcome welcome Atreides03!**

 **Thank you for your stopping by and posting such a lovely review! And I love your questions! So, to answer your points for everyone here, there will be no separate character called Esmeralda in the story as Marienne takes a loose form of her. And I doubt there will be a Phoebus making an appearance in future chapters. The main characters are Marienne, Quasi and Frollo, with the side characters in the form of Marienne's friends and the odd clergyman! I tend to get confused if there are a lot of characters to keep track of!**

 **And yes, guys, if you haven't listened to The Hunchback of Notre Dame stage musical soundtrack with the insanely adorable Michael Arden as Quasimodo, then you need to get on it. It is _highly_ important that you do if you have not done so already. It is nothing short of outstanding and has been my jam throughout writing this story!**

 **If there's no more housekeeping to busy ourselves with then let's get these curtains back open!**

 **Bit of a longer chapter this one...come on, it's the Feast of Fools, when should it be anything but!**

* * *

Marienne awoke on that Saturday morning with a beaming smile that could rival that of the piercing sun already high in the spotless blue sky.

She tore from her bed to her window, her smile widening once she spotted the trickling of early risers already making their way excitedly past her house towards the square, which announced its presence by the faint burst of a voice on a speakerphone accompanied by shrills of upbeat music playing from many powerful speakers.

As if cued by the music, a most glorious site appeared. The parade seemed like a never-ending kaleidoscope of bright colours and movement. Marienne watched in awe as the sea of costumed performers slowly made their way past her house towards the square, their movements tightly choreographed to the beat of the encompassing music.

Clowns weaved here and there throughout the parade, tossing small sweets to the adoring crowd that parted like the red sea to let the procession through. The shining eyes of the children watching the parade were as bright and dazzling as the batons tossed expertly into the air by the dancers.

The Festival of Fools had begun.

Marienne's excitement felt like bubbles bursting inside of her. She couldn't wait to be a part of it.

She gave herself a few more moments to observe the procession outside before disappearing to the bathroom to get ready.

Marienne was dressed, fed and out the door within minutes; her mother's stern voice leaving a trail behind the girl as she bid her parents goodbye.

The minute she left her front garden she was greeted by the warm morning breeze, its gentle hands lightly caressing her soft complexion. It carried with it an amalgam of the most pleasant and tempting smells; of strawberry crepes, meringue pies, macarons, pâte de fruit, and calisson to name a few.

She joined the gathering of people that flowed like a steady stream following the parade towards the square. She spotted the look of delight on faces of all ages around her, and heard their enthusiastic chatter and laughter.

The parade had now split into various directions along the streets. Dozens of dancers were cascading themselves gracefully through the crowd. The dancing girls were so beautiful in their brightly coloured silk shimmering dresses that whirled around their legs with their graceful movements.

Marienne hadn't even approached the square, yet she was already passing countless rows of game stalls, Turkish delight stalls, fudge and calisson stalls, crepe stands, pâte de fruit stands, and several ice cream merchants. Each one decked in bright stripes of yellows, blues and reds, and drawing in a healthy crowd.

At last she made it to the square in front of Notre Dame, which stood as tall and as magnificent as ever. The stalls and attractions she had passed on her journey were a mere warmup act to the pièce de résistance in front of her. What was once a plain square of dry, faded cobbled stones is now an explosion of colour, life, thrill, vibrancy, and adventure.

Marienne trod carefully through the sea of people. Performers in iridescent costumes on stilts were looming over her, while groups of eager children zoomed past her in their eagerness to find the next attraction. She spotted the Ferris wheel in the far corner towering over the square. Scattered nearby was the carousel, the chair swings, teacups and the Helter Skelter. She made a mental note to go on these later.

A short distance away was the dunk the monk attraction that was displaying its latest soaked victim surrounded by several laughing children. And nearby to that stood the giant bouncy Cathedral that was in full use, and the high striker which announced its presence with intermittent 'boing' sounds.

The roaring of engines combined with screams signalled more rides behind her. She turned around to be greeted by the most petrifying-looking rides, built sky high in all their mechanical finery.

These rides would please only the bravest of thrill-seekers. Marienne was certainly not one of them. She preferred the quieter delight of the carousel or the Ferris wheel. Her stomach somersaulted at the site of people being spun around violently or being dropped without warning from two hundred feet.

Craning her neck, she spotted the great wooden stage that stood directly in front of the proud Cathedral. Strips of bright red material covered with eccentric gold patterns decorated the edges and scaled up the back wall that Marienne guessed housed makeshift dressing rooms. A large stereo took its place in a corner next to several small buckets of sweets and trinkets yet to be thrown to the crowd.

The stage was empty but Marienne could feel the promise of a whole day of performances and events soon to begin on its floorboards. The most notable event being the popular King or Queen of Fools contest that never failed to bring the most amusement and entertainment. A gold painted throne could already be seen in the corner, awaiting its newest occupant.

Marienne didn't revel in the contest as much as others did; the idea that fashioning the scariest looking mask will make you king or queen of the festival was tacky to her. And the winner always ended up being severely drunk and embarrassing themselves by the time the festivities ended. But still this tradition remained strong, and she did enjoying playing along.

Marienne walked over to the Ferris wheel, having arranged to meet her friends there. Standing by the wheel gave her a good view of the festival as a whole. She beamed at the spectacular scenes laid out before her.

But her smile soon faded, her stomach lurching slightly. _He would love this_. Her words crept up to her like a hunting lion, and circled like vultures in her head.

She wished beyond anything that she could have brought him along with her today. He deserved to be happy. To explore the wonders and amusements of the festival together. To laugh at the dunk the monk; to delight in the rides, and appreciate the beautiful scope of the city from atop the great Ferris wheel; to enjoy the rich taste of the meringues and the soft silk of the many flavoured ice creams, to cheer on the performers onstage, and marvel at the fireworks in the evening.

She had no doubt Quasimodo wouldn't have experienced anything like this before. She had a strong feeling from her few encounters with him that he hadn't experienced much of life full stop.

She was abruptly snapped out of her daze with the passing sight of a short, unusually proportioned figure covered head to toe in what looked like a faded blue cloak meandering clumsily through the crowd a few yards in front of her.

She blinked several times to adjust her eyes to the spot, but the figure had disappeared. She hadn't realised she was so deep in her thoughts of Quasimodo that her mind was able to trick her into actually seeing him. She blinked several times more to ensure she was completely fastened in reality again.

But her next sighting made her wish her mind was still playing tricks. She frowned as her gaze followed the intimidatingly gracious steps of the Reverend Claude Frollo heading towards his seat in the officials' box by the stage, accompanied by two other members of the clergy. Each step caused anyone in his direct path to leap out of his way as though their lives depended on it.

The priest's dark cassock robes swept around his black oxford shoes like snakes protecting their master. Despite not needing to, Frollo wore his official robes to the festival every year. Marienne knew this was nothing more than to exert more power and importance over the Parisians.

"Marienne!" she suddenly heard in the distance. She turned to see Julia, Ines and Anne-Lise walking up to her, accompanied by a couple of people she had never seen before but assumed were Anne-Lise's friends from her textiles club. Any thought of Frollo left Marienne instantly.

"Great turnout, no?" Julia said loudly to be heard over a set of loud speakers next to them.

"Amazing!" retorted Marienne, a wide smile back on her face. "I want to go on all of these at least twice!" she said jovially, signalling to the various rides encasing the group.

"There's more of us over near the whack a mole!" announced Anne-Lise while Marienne introduced herself to the new faces. Marienne swallowed nervously at the thought of more additions to the group. She had never been very confident in big groups, particularly when she didn't know half of them.

Marienne pushed aside her nervousness as best as she could while the group made their way to join the additions at the other side of the square.

The group explored the festival in high spirits. Everyone chatted merrily to each other, and Marienne soon found her nervousness disappearing. Every so often the group would split off to explore different sets of rides, Marienne sticking with the half of the group that favoured the gentler rides.

* * *

The excitement of the festival kept Marienne in a bright mood, as well as feeling slightly nauseous from the junk food she had eaten throughout the day. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this happy.

It was mid-afternoon and the festival was still in full swing. Marienne and her friends had worked their way down most of the rides and attractions and ended at the great stage, which had been home to many incredibly entertaining performances, each one featuring the most spectacular of stunts and tricks. It was definitely better than last year in Marienne's opinion.

The group had decided to stay near the stage, as the much-awaited crowning of the King or Queen of Fools would be taking place at any moment. Marienne scanned the crowd, noting the anticipation palpable among the solid mass of festival goers plastered to the stage's edges, each one trying to get a clear view.

A sudden eruption of clapping and cheer from the crowd forced Marienne's attention back to the stage in which a young man and woman a bit older than herself had magically materialised.

She recognised them immediately as her school's current student presidents. The boy's jet-black hair was styled back in messy spikes, and he wore a boldly coloured shirt and taupe chinos, while the girl's straightened dyed blonde hair fell neatly over a polka dot blouse that was tucked into a dark midi skirt. Marienne had never spoken to either of them, but everything about them oozed complete confidence and poise.

"Hellooooo Paris!" boomed the two into their handheld microphones, which was met with instant cheers.

"You have it right, folks!" announced the boy in a teasing tone. "It's now the moment you've all been waiting for!" Stronger cheers ensued.

"It's time to crown this year's King or Queen of Fools!" continued the girl. They both danced across the stage with intricately choreographed movements.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a warm hand for last year's King of Fools!" spoke the boy, gesturing to Marienne's English teacher on the side of the stage who waved proudly to the cheering audience.

"But now we need a new monarch!" The girl bent down to address the crowd directly. "So, come on up contestants! Don't be shy! Let your hard-work earn its reward!"

There was a brief pause before gradually, one by one, multiple people, each wearing a mask more horrifying than the next, ascended the stage on both sides. The least impressive masks were made of papier- mâché or plaster, while the more impressive ones appeared to be made of silicone and foam latex. Marienne was awestruck at how lifelike some of them were. She felt Julia nudge her gently in her side, prompting her to follow her pointed finger to a mask that had taken its likeness from a monster featured in a horror movie that had recently come out.

"That's it, that's it," spoke the boy as he positioned each contestant in a line facing the audience.

"Come on up here. Come on fella, don't be shy," Marienne heard the female student speak to someone in the crowd on the far side of the stage. Marienne guessed this particular person needed more convincing than the rest, as the girl had descended the steps and disappeared in the audience.

"And here we all are!" announced the boy from the other side of the stage, steering Marienne's attention back to him. "Give all our masked contestants a big round of applause!" he boomed as he held the microphone out to the adoring crowd.

Marienne had been giggling at one particularly amusing mask and clapping along with everyone, when Julia suddenly started tapping her eagerly on the arm, pointing to a contestant that was following the girl warily up the steps to the stage.

"Look at that one!" shouted Julia with disgusted delight to Marienne. "It's absolutely _repulsive_!"

Marienne happily followed her gaze. But when her eyes landed on who it was she was pointing at, her smile froze. Her whole body seemed to freeze at the realisation.

She traced with wide, incredulous eyes over the short, bowed legs, the thick, tree trunk arms, the hump, and the shock of bright red, messy hair which stood out against the plain colours of his shirt and trousers.

It couldn't be.

Marienne breathed fast, tormented breaths as Quasimodo was turned to face the audience, obvious confusion and terror etched over his misshapen face.

 _What was he doing here? How did he get here? What was he doing in this contest?_ The questions in Marienne's mind were endless. But the worst thought of all was one that chilled her to her very core. Claude Frollo was here too.

She didn't dare look towards the officials' box to the right of her, but if she had, she would have indeed seen the frozen faced priest staring in disregard at the stage.

Still paralysed with icy horror, Marienne could do nothing but watch as both students began working their way down the line of people, tearing off every mask that they deemed unworthy, and revealing the miserable faces underneath.

There were only two impressive masks still on when both students finally reached Quasimodo at the end of the line.

"Look here everyone," bellowed the male student, patting Quasimodo's hump. "This one's even made a full body costume! Can you believe it! Wow, such convincing work!"

Quasimodo didn't have time to register the comment, as the girl had already began pulling hard at his cheeks. With no budge, the girl gave up and looked inquisitively at the scared boy. But upon realising the truth, she instantly let go of his face, recoiling in horror.

Gasps and shocked exclamations from the audience pierced the cold silence.

"No way!" one man shouted.

"That's no mask!"

"It's his _face_!" yelled a woman.

"Hideous!"

"That can't be his real face!" Marienne heard Anne-Lise cry from behind her.

"Impossible," Ines breathed, covering her mouth in shock.

Marienne watched as all the contestants fled the stage, leaving the students to stare in horror from the side-lines at the trembling boy. Quasimodo looked out at the crowd with a pained expression, his chest rising and falling violently in panic, before burying his face dejectedly in his large hands.

Marienne had an overwhelming urge to run up the stairs and take him away. But her body could not respond to her commands. She just couldn't move. Contrary to her frozen body, her throat felt like it was on fire. She couldn't swallow, she couldn't breathe. She used every fibre in her body to pray for a good outcome from all of this, though she doubted there could be one.

"Are you ok?" perked Ines in a shaky voice, noticing the girl's catatonic state.

But Marienne's dry mouth forbade her from articulating anything. She just shook her head continuously, not taking her eyes off the stage.

"I know who he is!" came a sudden voice from somewhere in the crowd. "I've seen him before! It's him, the hunchback! Notre Dame's bell ringer!"

This information seemed to spring the student hosts into life, though fear and nervousness was still clearly in their eyes. Anxious to keep the festivities up, they both swallowed their fear and leapt towards the forlorn figure.

"So!" began the male student into his microphone. "You're our mysterious bell ringer, are you?" Quasimodo was still too frightened to look up.

"What's your name?" asked the boy, positioning the microphone by Quasimodo's cupped hands. Quasimodo slowly and cautiously took his hands a few centimetres from his face. He looked at the student anxiously before replying in a small, shaky voice. "Q-Quasimodo."

The girl began circling the hunchback. "Well, do you know what we can do to thank you for your services to our great Notre Dame, Quasimodo?" she asked coolly.

The male student caught on. "Yes, all that bell-ringing must be exhausting. What you need is a day to relax and have fun." He walked to the front of the stage. "Ladies and gentleman! May we present to you, your newest King of Fools! Quasimodo, the bell ringer of Notre Dame!"

There was another window of uncomfortable silence, before the audience erupted into deafening roars of cheers and applause.

The girl student came up behind Quasimodo and placed a red and gold crown upon his head and a red cape over his back, while the other boy handed him a fake gold sceptre.

Marienne's icy cocoon began to thaw one she saw the change in Quasimodo. Relief wouldn't even cut it for what she was feeling.

Realising what was happening, a timid smile began to form on the bell ringer's face. His large, bright eyes darted to various points in the audience. His smile growing with each happy face smiling and cheering at him.

Marienne's heart seemed to start beating again as she watched the students place Quasimodo onto the throne which was then hoisted up by several people from the crowd.

She made the mistake of glancing to the box, where a visibly enraged Frollo stood staring at the stage. She didn't have long to dwell on this though, as Quasimodo was cutting into her line of view in his course around the square.

She had never seen anyone look so happy. There was pure, innocent joy in those emerald-ceylon eyes. Marienne and her group followed the audience as they trailed after his throne, clapping, shouting his name in adoration and throwing flowers and confetti. Anne-Lise whistled loudly while Ines and Julia clapped along with her. Marienne beamed at her friends.

She couldn't have been happier for Quasimodo in that moment. This is what she had wanted for him. To get out; to enjoy the festival, and to be elected King of Fools was a wonderful bonus.

The crowd eventually brought their king back to the stage and set him on his feet. The two student hosts presented him again to the roars of his adoring subjects, throwing heaps upon heaps of confetti onto him. She felt a sudden burst of warmth inside her as she noticed for a split second that Quasimodo had caught her eye and was waving and smiling at _her._ She waved back and gave him a thumbs up.

Marienne watched in delight as Quasimodo threw his arms up in the arm triumphantly. Her hands hurt from clapping profusely, and her voice was sore from cheering but she couldn't have cared less. She wiped away several tears of happiness while it appeared Quasimodo did the same.

But this perfect, joyous moment would soon be over as quickly as it had begun.

* * *

 **No regrets on the cliff hanger...**


	17. The Sun Withholds its Light to No-one

**Well hello again! Been a few weeks again, I can only apologise! BUT if it helps, I present to you a new freshly steam-dried chapter! This is continuing the festival but from Quasi's POV.**

 **Also let me know if you're liking this switch in POV. I won't do it for every event (the festival is just the exception as its one of the main driving forces of the plot) but generally I like to include both Marienne and Quasi and show their feelings to you themselves. But do let me know if this is too jarring or if this aids too much repetition, or whatever. As I said, after the festival, the switch in POV shouldn't be as jarring as they'll be most likely experiencing different events in the plot, aside from when they have their encounters.**

 **Yeah, very happy to hear your thoughts on this, and just thoughts in general! So please review. But in the meantime, ENJOY!**

* * *

Quasimodo stared out his small window, lost in his thoughts as his sullen eyes traced the many happy faces outside, almost taunting him as they danced and skipped to the electric music.

This year's Festival of Fools looked to be the best one yet.

The boy craned his neck and caught the colourful patterns of the stalls lining the road, each one boasting an assortment of goodies and treats. He could almost smell their enticing aromas.

There seemed to be more colour than pavement. Every bit of tarmac and stone was covered either by attractions, stalls or crowds of excited Parisians, all etching to make their way the few yards down to the square where it seemed the real life of the Festival dwelled. A heavy weight seemed to fill his chest as the bell ringer took in the festivities from his lonely perch.

Unable to bare anymore of these unreachable sights, the young man looked up and admired the flawless blue sky with its sun caught high in it despite still being early morning.

His attention was momentarily snatched when the deep bellows of Claude Frollo sounded from behind him, making him turn his head to his bedroom door.

"I'm leaving now," spoke the priest tersely, one pale, cold hand clasped on the handle of the open door. He had donned his usual black cassock robes, as he always did when attending the Festival each year.

Quasimodo nodded, just about managing to utter an "okay" in a sunken voice.

Frollo appraised his ward with a piercing eye. Quasimodo hated whenever he did this, as it not only made him extremely nervous, but it never failed to send an unpleasant chill down his twisted spine.

"Speak up, boy," Frollo finally commanded.

"S-s-sorry, M-master." Though Quasimodo felt this wasn't enough. "I-I-I hope you h-have a…n-nice time."

Seemingly satisfied with the response, Frollo stepped slowly further into the minute bedroom, peering around at the immaculate space before eyeing the small window ahead.

"It isn't wise to dwell on the unreachable, boy." He stood by the side of the desk where the lonely boy sat and peered out. "To fixate on dreams is to distance from reality."

Quasimodo followed the priest's gaze to the countless excited faces and twirling colours outside, before realising what the priest meant.

"It just looks so wonderful," Quasimodo whispered dreamily, without even realising what he had said.

"Excuse me?" Frollo looked down at the boy's longing expression.

"I-i-it's just that…" But Frollo knew exactly where Quasimodo was going with this. Sighing, he cupped a thin hand under Quasimodo's chin, forcing the boy to look straight into his beetle black eyes.

"And here we are again. My dear Quasimodo." His voice laced with a forged sympathetic whisper. "Do you not remember _anything_ I've taught you?"

The longing in Quasimodo's eyes vanished like smoke. "Y-yes, o-of course, m-master."

Frollo raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for Quasimodo to elaborate. "I-I…I am a m-monster…" His eyes began to water. "I am n-nothing but a…a monster." His voice was soft, almost to the point of breaking.

Frollo nodded again in approval. "And do you see any monsters out there?" He forced Quasimodo's view to the window.

"No, master." Quasimodo was no longer able to hide his tears.

"That's right," said the priest, smiling maliciously. "Out there has no place for a monster like you. How many times must I tell you. My boy, you belong in here." He let go of Quasimodo's chin and gestured to the dull room. "In here, you have sanctuary." The priest placed a hand on his chest. "In here, I can protect you."

Quasimodo nodded sadly in agreement, looking down at the floor. "Thank you, master," he said dejectedly. "Y-you have always been good to me."

"That's right." Frollo headed to the door, but turned back to address his ward. "And remember, boy. You know the reprimand for your careless wanderings. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the payment from last time's little escapades in the cathedral."

Indeed, the bell ringer's many cuts and bruises was always a reminder of the penance of insubordination. The most recent being the bruise on his right temple, now less harsh with slight healing, as the painful reminder of his most recent careless wandering from the tower to the balconies.

"N-no, master. I-I will n-never disobey y-you again." Quasimodo could barely look at his master.

With one last satisfied smile, Frollo slipped out the door and closed it abruptly behind him. Soon to follow was the closing of the front door, leaving the boy again to his painful loneliness.

* * *

As much as the fact surprised him, both his nightmare and Frollo's explicit orders did not put the bell ringer off from joining the Festival.

It just looked too good this year to just watch from his bedroom.

The boy had spent the good part of the morning pacing awkwardly around the confined room, lost in unbearable conflict with himself.

But his mind was made up.

Before he even realised what he was doing, he had fashioned himself a makeshift cloak out of an old, thin blue blanket that he usually used to cover the window when the sun was particularly bright.

If he was going to do this, he would make sure he was as inconspicuous as was humanly possible. The last thing he wanted was to be seen, or for Frollo to recognise him. He wouldn't dare imagine what would happen were he to be caught.

Throwing the makeshift clock around his awkward form and head, he fastened it up at the neck using fabric he had cut from the corners. Painting for as many years had given him quite the artistic sensibility to fashion things successfully with no preparation and in a short amount of time.

For once, he smiled when his eyes glossed over the window. He was ready to be a part of them. Even just for the day.

"I can do this," he whispered to himself multiple times. Goodness knows he needed the encouragement.

He checked the cloak was securely covering his head, before flying out his bedroom door, down the stairs, and, not giving himself a chance to turn back, turned the handle of the front door to be met with the blazing gleam of the sun.

Music. Music was the first thing that reached him. Glorious, harmonious, perfect music that seemed to have no source. It was just everywhere. Much like the whirlwind of colours.

Once he let his eyes adjust to the bright day, he noticed the sights before him. His heart was racing uncontrollably. He felt hot. He couldn't catch his breath. His palms were sweaty and felt tingly. He couldn't stop blinking.

But he didn't care. Nothing in the world was important to him except for the wondrous sights before him.

He stepped hesitantly off his garden, allowing himself to get lost in the stream of people and colours. Everything then became a blur.

There were children skipping around him. Quasimodo was stunned, unused to anyone other than Frollo being unafraid to be so close to him. He eventually dared to laugh lightly along with them.

This wasn't like his nightmare at all.

He couldn't quite believe he was really doing this. The freedom he felt in this moment was indescribable.

Along his way to the square he passed the colourful stalls. He resisted the urge to get a closer look as he didn't dare be out for too long in case Frollo came back early. The blood curdling thought of getting caught made him continuously checking that his hood was still securely covering his face.

He passed a flourish of people on stilts, of which one handed him a lollipop wrapped in colourful wrapping. He looked at the unfamiliar treat hesitantly but gave in to the woman's friendly smile and took it with a nervous 'thank you.' He put it in his trouser pocket, cherishing it as a memento.

The music and ambience were much more electrifying once he reached the great square outside the cathedral. There were bigger crowds of people and twice the number of stalls and attractions than the ones covering the side streets.

Quasimodo's eyes were as wide as saucers, eager to see as much as possible from the extravagance that surrounded him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the enticing aromas of sweet and savoury treats fill his senses.

He passed jugglers, magicians and dancers, all expertly showing off their crafts. Quasimodo found the dancers particularly enticing. Their supple outfits and sensuous movements were nothing short of gorgeous to him.

The hunchback had never thought in his life that he'd be able to experience such vivacity, and to this degree. It was as though all the fun and life of the world had been placed right in that square.

He spotted the menacing rides which he had seen a few nights ago in their lesser forms. Now they were fully formed and delivering what they had been built to do. He winced at the screams that the rides seemed to be incessantly producing.

Quasimodo limped towards the Ferris wheel to get a closer look at its amazing construction. But as he neared it, he halted in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat as he caught the unmistakable sight of Marienne standing in front of it.

He stared at her as she stood, seemingly happy enough, looking around her and smiling to herself every now and then. Quasimodo found himself smiling too. He knew she wouldn't be able to see him from her spot.

He had the urge to go up to her, but just as he began to, he noticed a group of laughing young people, no older than him, making their way to the wheel, parallel to his direction. They were getting closer and closer to him. In a state of panic and fear, he spun in the opposite direction and bolted away and back into the deep sea of the crowds, not daring to check if they had seen him.

In his panicked hurry, he ended up colliding into someone behind the fortune teller's tent. Losing his footing, he fell painfully onto his twisted back.

"What the-!" exclaimed the man, just able to catch himself on the older man standing next to him. He quickly managed to stabilise himself, before turning around in annoyance to face the invader.

The crude curses from the man were a blur to the fallen younger man as he struggled to pick himself up.

"I-I-I'm so s-sorry," Quasimodo spoke shakily. "I-I r-really didn't m-mean to." He finally managed to regain his footing but loud gasps told him of the worst. Touching his head, his stomach churned as he realised his hood had fallen back.

Standing as up right as his hump would allow, he became face to face with a small group of men who were looking at him with amused horror on their intoxicated faces, beer cups in their clumsy hands.

"Woah," spoke the man who Quasimodo had run into. "Another one for the contest. My god, this one's _hideous_!" he announced between laughs, pointing to the bell ringer's face.

"I've never seen anything so disgusting in my life!" interjected another man. Quasimodo's chest tightened and he could do nothing but look down as he took in the hurtful words.

"How in hell did you make that thing?" asked the first man. The hunchback looked up at him, confused. He stared at the man, unsure of what to do or say.

"What? Can't you speak?" the man asked mockingly, earning titters from the group.

"I-I-I don't-" Quasimodo eventually said in a small, soft voice. But without warning, the first man began tugging at his cheeks roughly.

"Let me see how you did this, I want-" But the man's voice froze as the hunchback's 'mask' didn't seem to be budging. He practically leapt back from the boy in his shock. "No…way," he whispered, a porky hand covering his mouth. "It's real."

The group was seemingly beside themselves at the realisation that Quasimodo wasn't wearing a costume.

"Good _god_!" shouted one man as he nudged another one's arm, pointing drunkenly at the distraught boy cowering fearfully before them. "What _are_ you?!"

"He's a freak! That's what he is!" squealed the first man in a jeering tone. "Where did you come from freak!"

Quasimodo couldn't take any more of this humiliation, and bolted as fast as he could away from the hysterical men. So long ago seemed the blissful, excited hurricane he had been in at the marvel of the festival.

He ran as far and fast as his bow legs could take him, expertly dodging many happy people who swam around him, able to enjoy the festival because they weren't born with a terrible affliction. They taunted him with their perfect, beautiful faces.

The boy spared a moment to look back and was horrified to catch the sight of the men running after him. Though they were much slower in their inebriated state. Still, Quasimodo knew he had to get out of their line of sight, and fast.

Spotting a large crowd gathered along a large wooden stage, he ran towards it, deciding a large mass of people to be the best temporary camouflage. Though he seriously regretted this decision once he was in the heart of it, trying in vain to prevent himself from being pushed and shoved amidst everyone's excitement. He looked around him helplessly, desperately trying to work out an exit route.

A loud and sudden eruption of clapping and cheering burst from the people around him, forcing him to momentarily look at the stage just a few metres in front of him. He watched as two young people walked across the stage confidently, addressing the crowd in loud, heroic voices.

Quasimodo was too engulfed in his panic to escape to hear what the young man and woman were saying. For his whole life, he had never once had to worry about devising a getaway plan from a tight bulk of people. He couldn't think properly with the booming voices of the students on stage mixed with the cheers and chatters of the surrounding crowd. He had not the height nor the tenacity to fight his way out, and eventually gave up, deciding this fate better than a guaranteed worse one with the intoxicated men.

Then without warning, his hood was forced back by someone behind him. Fearing it to be one of the men, he turned around in horror and hastily fought to put it back up.

"Leave it down! You're perfect!" said the female student who had pulled his hood down. "Come on fella, don't be shy," she said as Quasimodo watched her in confusion. She was much taller than him and he noticed she was bending down and addressing him like he was a child

Quasimodo continued to stare at her. The young woman became visibly impatient and took his hand abruptly, giving him no choice but to follow her through the stubborn crowd and up the stairs to the stage. He was too lost in his perplexity to ask her what was happening, and too frightened to look about him for answers.

Everything from then on was a blur. The boy stood at the front of the stage along with a dozen others and dared to look out at the many faces looking straight at him. All he wanted to do was run. How on earth had he come to be in this situation? He had only wanted to experience the festival while remaining as invisible as possible.

His heart sunk deep into his stomach once he spotted Claude Frollo sitting in the officials' box only a few yards away. That was the last straw. He had to escape.

But once again, luck was not on his side. He felt a rough hand on his hump, planting him to his spot, followed by a voice loud in his ear. Then for the second time that day, two hands began pulling hard at his cheeks. And, much like earlier, loud gasps and shocked exclamations bled from the students and audience alike.

He felt his chest once again contract as the world came crashing down around him. Shouts of insults were bombarding him left and right. He buried his face in his large hands, unable to deal with anymore rejection for the day.

After what seemed like hours, Quasimodo recognised the students' voices sounding beside him but their words were lost in the whirlwind of fear taking hold of him.

"What's your name?" was the first clear phrase that the bell ringer heard, his hearing finally collecting itself again. Quasimodo didn't want to speak, but he could feel the searing burn of the many faces staring at him, and knew the faster he could get this over with, the faster he could be free to run off the stage and back to the safety of his bedroom.

"Q-Quasimodo," he begrudgingly replied, shamed of his namesake that was now let out for all of Paris to laugh at and tease. He waited in his incredibly uncomfortable panicked state for the jeers to come.

But in complete contrast to his fears, he was met with an explosion of applause and cheers. Were they mocking him? He suspected, but he then felt the female student place a crown upon his head and fastened a cape over his back, while the male student gave him a shining gold sceptre.

Quasimodo was dumbfounded, the mood swings of the crowd giving him whiplash, but for once, it was a pleasant feeling. In fact, it was an indescribably pleasant feeling. This couldn't be real.

He had never felt so happy. He scanned the crowd, taking in the image of all the countless faces in the crowds beaming up at him, even cheering his name. He couldn't hold back the smile creeping on his lips.

He then felt himself being lifted onto a velvet throne and hoisted into the air, parading him through the mass of adoring subjects. This only made his heart leap higher. Unable to contain his glee, he waved to everyone and flew his arms in the air triumphantly while heaps of confetti rained down upon him. Not even the flash of Frollo in the distance could shroud this absolutely perfect moment.

Once back on the stage, Quasimodo wiped away tears of joy, the euphoric feeling stronger than ever. Quasimodo had to do a double take as he was convinced he even spotted Marienne in the first couple of rows. Her heavenly smile and bright, beaming eyes making his heart flutter. Unsure of what else to do, he shyly waved at her, making note to thank her properly later for encouraging him to attend the festival in the first place. Without her, he would not have had the strength and courage to go, and better yet, being granted the title of King of Fools!

But regrettably, this was a title that would also be his undoing.

Fast, cold and sticky, it came soaring from the crowd, and collided directly with the bell ringer's face.


	18. The Eye of the Hurricane

**So, fair warning: bit of an upsetting chapter this one. Read on at your own peril.**

 **And I may or may not have teared up while watching this scene of the film in preparation for this bit of the story. I'm still flabbergasted that this scene was allowed in a Disney movie, considering its graphic and upsetting nature. And I still can't believe _Hunchback_ was given a G/U rating. Like okay sure.**

 **But anyway! Thank you as ever to Jake and dreamkeeper for your marvellous reviews, thank you for sticking with me through this.**

 **And I hope that the action is picking up a bit in these chapters now. I admit it started off a bit slow but I'm using the festival as the driving force of the action that will be (hopefully) feeding through the proceeding chapters. But who knows, I could be wrong, please leave any comments and suggestions you may have regarding this or anything else.**

 **And thank you again for all your lovely reviews! I read them with such fondness, and it helps incredibly in keeping this story alive and kicking.**

 **Ok, here we go... *whimper***

* * *

The crowd became deathly silent. It seemed as though the whole of Paris had come to a standstill. No one knew how to react to the sudden turn of events.

Marienne froze mid-clap, her breath caught in her throat. All eyes were on the figure on stage whose face was covered in the rich red juices of a tomato.

And then a harsh, rough, slightly slurred, voice broke the painful silence. "Hey, freak! That looks good on you!" And as if on cue, another tomato rocketed from the crowd and collided with the hunchback's face.

"Did you think you could hide from us, ugly!" called another voice from the same area. "Found you!" came another, with an accompanying tomato doing the same bidding as the rest.

"Hail to the king!"

"Bon appetite, your Majesty!" There was no end to their insults.

Marienne turned in horror in the direction of the cruel voices to see a small group of men, each one as drunk as the next, standing at the foot of the stage, piles of fruit and vegetables wedged into their arms. Her horror-struck eyes followed each tomato, coming faster and in larger quantities.

She didn't dare allow herself to freeze up in panic again. Not when her friend was in distress. She saw how terrified he looked, seemingly too shocked to move. There was no sign of the two students; the poor boy had been left by himself at the mercy of the red missiles incessantly striking him, one after the other.

Seemingly snapping out of his shock, Quasimodo began to run towards the stairs but slipped on a fallen tomato carcass, falling painfully onto his back.

And then what happened next came like a Hurricane. The cruel men's laughter had grown infectious and, as if prompted, the whole crowd broke into fits of cold, merciless laughter. Countless fruits and vegetables had seemingly materialised and were gleefully passed around amongst the townspeople, making sure everyone got the chance to make their contributions.

The girl couldn't take it. "No," Marienne whispered, looking around in alarm. "Stop!" she shrieked in a strained voice. "Stop it!" But this did nothing to tame the unrestrained crowd.

The girl looked around her, mortified. She was at least relieved to see neither Ines, Anne-Lise or Julia following their example. Anne-Lise and Julia looked pale and horrified, while Ines looked on the verge of crying. Though for Marienne, to cry was all too easy at that moment. She couldn't afford to cry, she had to help her friend.

She bolted desperately towards the stairs, tearing her way through countless stubborn bodies. Reaching a foot on the steps, she gasped as she felt two hands clasp round her waist and jolt her back. Marienne clawed frantically at the porky hands that restrained her.

"Oh, no you don't missy!" came the voice of the hands' owner.

"Let me go, NOW!" she yelled as threateningly as she could, the anger roaring inside her as she continued her efforts to break free of his strong hold.

By this point, Quasimodo had picked himself up and was attempting to escape a second time.

"Not so fast, hunchback!" came a voice from the sea of people. The girl screamed as she was forced to watch a rope fly and loop around Quasimodo's neck, succeeding in pulling him back down onto his side with a loud thud. Any remaining respect for the bell ringer had flown off with the King's cape. This was followed closely by two more ropes that latched themselves tightly onto both his wrists, making him drop the fool's gold sceptre. More ropes flew out of the audience, mixed with chains, clinking maliciously as they hit the stage floorboards.

"Stop this!" the girl yelled again into the sea of unforgiving insults and laughter, the tears now falling uncontrollably from both the sight before her and her inability to do anything about it. "STOP!" She wasn't going to give up trying to end her friend's suffering. She continued biting and clawing the hands sealed around her.

Marienne saw a flash go off several times from nearby, and was utterly sickened to notice that multiple members of the cruel crowd were taking pictures and recording this humiliation on their phones.

Then, as though something in him snapped, Quasimodo bolted up onto his feet and fought against the ropes and chains raining down on him, ripping open the back of his shirt with the sheer force. Because of his brute strength, several people holding the ropes went flying at a single pull. This only gave the crowd more ammunition. Slurs of insults continued to mesh with the shackles that finally proved too much for the exhausted Quasimodo to fight.

"Quasimodo!" It came as a strangled shriek as Marienne stared in terror as a few people used the ropes and chains to hogtie him to the stage. They threw their arms up victoriously, before leaping back off the stage. More produce, mixed with other miscellaneous objects, continued to hit Quasimodo. He was utterly powerless to the cruel spectators' wrath, with no way of shielding himself or escaping.

"Master!" Marienne heard Quasimodo call out unexpectedly in a choked voice. "Master, please! Help me!" The girl tore her gaze off the desperate hunchback to the stone-faced priest in the officials' box just yards away. He made no move to help him or even display any kind of remorse.

That was the last straw.

Marienne was drenched in adrenaline, and gathering all her remaining strength, kicked her captor in the groin so hard that he instantly tore his hands off her and fell to the floor in agony. As though of their own accord, her weak legs flew her up the stairs to the stage. She took in a slow breath as she walked slowly towards the bound figure.

The crowd ceased their turmoil, clearly stunned by the girl's presence. Marienne's heart was jumping violently in her chest and her stomach was doing backflips. "What are you doing, girl! You're ruining our fun!" She heard someone yell.

"Get off the stage!" This was followed by boos and groans of dismay, but the girl ignored them.

She watched as Quasimodo lifted his head in her direction and stared his tear-filled turquoise eyes at her pleadingly. "No," Marienne heard herself whisper remorsefully as she stopped beside him, the result of the crowd's disgusting treatment painfully sinking in. The hunchback was covered head to foot in produce juices, there were welts on his exposed back, and multiple cuts and bruises already forming on his face.

"I-I'm so sorry," Marienne squeaked tearfully as she knelt beside him and began to unwind the countless ropes and chains. "I-I'm s-so sorry."

"You!" she heard from a few yards in the distance, the deep, icy voice unmistakable. "Leave him alone and get down _at once_!" Marienne's stomach boiled and she turned towards Claude Frollo, who was standing up in indignation. The fickle crowd seemed to take further delight in this bonus source of entertainment, as this was the first time Rev. Claude Frollo had shown his temper. "Get. Down. Now," Frollo said impatiently, clearly not caring that his usual respectable disposition was momentarily shattered.

Marienne yanked the remaining ropes and chains off Quasimodo, flashing a shaky yet triumphant smile at the antagonised priest in defiance. She carefully picked Quasimodo up by the arm, holding onto him while his legs stabilised themselves. Marienne's anger for the priest had hit an all time high and, if she hadn't have been overcome with anguish at the traumatic events, would have revelled in his obvious fury and unease.

She really wanted to say something to both the erratic crowd and Frollo, but her heart was flying around her chest too much as it was. She couldn't ignore her disgust at the crowd and the priest, but the adrenaline was wearing off and she had someone who needed her help. She had to focus on getting Quasimodo out of the line of fire.

She continued to ignore everyone's unwavering, hungry gaze as she slowly led the forlorn figure off the stage, carefully down the steps and into the audience, who parted all too readily from obvious fear and disgust of Quasimodo. Marienne shot daggers at the many faces. She was beyond disgusted at their behaviour; one minute the crowd loves him, then they use him mercilessly for their entertainment, and now they can't face to be near him.

* * *

Marienne stopped the boy behind an unoccupied carnival ride truck that was parked on a side street, out of the festival goers' view. Checking to make sure they wouldn't be disturbed, she steadied Quasimodo onto the truck's side step. She swallowed her distress as she caught another glance at him. _What have they done to you?_

She removed the crown from his head, disposing of it in a nearby bin. She noticed that Quasimodo was avidly avoiding her eyes, staring at his fidgeting hands, and appeared to be shrinking into himself as though trying to disappear. He had made one or two attempts to hoist his torn shirt back onto his shoulders but reluctantly gave up, sighing in defeat.

She attempted to carefully wipe some produce juice from his face and hair with her sleeve, but stopped when he flinched away. "Quasimodo, I..." Marienne began. The boy made no sign of acknowledgment, only continuing to stare at the ground. "I…I can't tell you how sorry I-I am that this happened to you." She could feel her eyes welling up with tears again. She watched him rub his arm nervously. "Please…please let me help you. What can I do?" She was at a loss for words after that, yearning for him to say something. She hoped this had instilled in him a bit of comfort, to show him that not everyone was against him. She needed him to know this, for his sake.

After what seemed like hours, Quasimodo timidly looked up at her. Marienne's heart sank as she noted the tormented look in his teary, blood-shot eyes. "I…" he began in a strained whisper, looking down at the ground again. "Th-thank y-you f-f-for…b-but I-I…I-I n-need to…to go."

Marienne watched, immobilised, as Quasimodo wiped a fallen tear from his face, got up and stagger up the side street and out of sight.

She miserably stared down the empty side street. The distant chatter and laughter from the festivalgoers only making her angry. It offended her how they continued to enjoy the festivities after their treatment of the poor boy, the star of their sick amusement. Granted, she was rational enough to know it wouldn't have been every festivalgoer, but all the same, the festival had lost its appeal to her.

She began the short walk back to her house, going against the tides of happy, celebrating Parisians. She wasn't in the mood to find any of her friends, she would catch up with them on Monday.

She couldn't get Quasimodo's agonised expression out her mind, or the harrowing sight of him tied up on the stage, unable to escape the curses of the spectators, in much the same way that he couldn't escape the curse of his affliction that had become the fuel for his torment that afternoon.

And her hatred for Frollo had never been this strong. White hot ash burned inside her each time she pictured him standing proudly in his cassock robes, forbidding her from denying the audience their fun. She couldn't dare imagine what the priest might have done to poor Quasimodo once at home.

Even she hadn't known how defiant and brave she could be, especially in front of a man of the church and a crowd of what must have been hundreds.

But, in an odd sense, this gave her hope. She _can_ be the defender Quasimodo so clearly needed. The friend he deserved.

* * *

 **I applaud you for getting through that, I certainly didn't.**

 **And this chapter was on the shorter side, I felt there was too much emotion going on to drag it out.**

 **Also, I'm sure you're making the connection between Marienne and Esmeralda and like I think I mentioned in a previous chapter, she is a stand in for Esmeralda if you will but only as the figure for Quasimodo to befriend and talk to, and help. In no way is she like the spunky, fiery exotic dancer we see in the Disney film. She is much more like Quasi in the sense of timidness. Her festival of fools moment was I think mostly down to adrenaline.**

 **Hope you enjoyed anyway.**


	19. Perseverance and Prosper

**Woah woah woah woah ok it's been a bit of a while to upload this chapter. My many apologies.**

 **Laptop breaks-replacement sucks-had to get replacement for replacement- got ill- illness took eons to go away- had christmas- christmas over so now back to story yay!**

 **Anyway! I hope you all had a fantastic christmas holidays, and a great new year! And now let's dive into this chapter like Marry Poppins and the children dived into the bath...**

* * *

Marienne couldn't concentrate on the sermon the next morning, having had a sleepless night the night before despite retiring early.

Even the walk to Notre Dame, which she always enjoyed, was less pleasant. The cathedral's great bells, which usually sang with melodic vigour, were dulled to a weakened monotone. Marienne had never heard the bells like this before; as though all the life had been taken out of them.

From her seat near the front of the nave during the mass, Marienne looked around her and noted a significant decline in numbers in attendance. This was the case every year after the festival; many chose to spend the morning recovering from a day of booze-filled gaiety.

The girl turned back to the front and glared fixedly at the priest who was deep in his lecture, seemingly indifferent to yesterday's appalling events. He had since returned to his usual imposing disposition, standing proudly as he scanned the few people in his audience with empty eyes.

Marienne's breath froze as his vulture-like gaze landed on her, and for a moment, she could see an echo of hate behind it. And something that felt the closest to hate she'd ever felt for anyone began to settle in her own eyes as she glared back at the man.

She had never felt this much hot anger for a person, particularly for a member of the church. It nested in her stomach, burning her insides as the imposing tones of Reverend Frollo swam in echoes around the nave.

Images of the poor boy's torment at the festival had been uncontrollably flooding her mind. Each painful image increased her anger towards the man who had remained seated in his pride, showing no mercy to stop the helpless boy's humiliation.

Her parents found out about what had happened at the weekend from Frollo at the end of mass. And, true to form, the priest had not positioned the girl in a good light.

"You _know_ I was only doing it to help that boy!" she had remarked to her parents on the walk home from church. "In no way was I wanting to spite Reverend Frollo, or embarrass him in any way. You know that! That boy needed help and no one else was going to do that!"

That hot anger that had nested in the young woman's stomach during the service had returned.

"Control your temper, for goodness sake!" barked her mother. "Your father and I know you were trying to help, but you had disobeyed a direct order from a church official, and that just isn't acceptable."

She held up an impatient hand to her daughter who was about to retort. "Again, I am proud that you wanted to help someone obviously in need, but you must learn to choose your battles. Defying orders from your priest, and humiliating him in the process, is never okay!"

"So I should have just left the boy to be slaughtered-?"

"-You should have done what was asked of you."

Marienne looked pleadingly to her father, who simply shook his head. She resigned from the argument, unwilling to continue what would certainly be a losing battle. Her mother was even more stubborn than she was.

The young woman knew things would only get worse from here.

Indeed, school the next day proved just as difficult, if not more so, to handle. She couldn't remember the last time a school day had rolled by so slowly.

It was unsurprising, yet still painful when the videos and pictures taken by those few cruel festivalgoers of _that_ incident had leaked on YouTube that morning. The news had paraded around school like wildfire. Everyone knew about what had happened, even those who hadn't attended the festival.

Marienne saw the reactions of the other students during class and at lunchtime as they huddled behind phones or passed a copy of the local tabloid amongst each other and read the half-page article with hungry eyes. She watched in silent fury as practically everyone took obvious delight in this entertainment.

She would never bring herself to watch the video, but she caught the few words of the tabloid's article as it lay open on the table beside her during tutor time.

"Ugly Treatment for the Ugliest Man in Paris!" read the headline. She didn't dare read the rest. But it was upon seeing the small picture of Quasimodo that sat beside the words, all clad in crown and cape and beaming at the camera, that led her to break down crying in the toilets.

The sounds of the video as it played, seemingly on loop, on the students' phones that passed her in the halls and classes followed her throughout the day, forcing her to constantly relive the incident. She had had enough when she was forced to hear it during their second period for what already seemed like the 100th time that day.

"Please turn that off," she had finally whispered to a pair of girls behind her who had the audio on low enough for the teacher to not hear, but just loud enough for it to pain Marienne.

The girls looked up at her in amusement. "You think you're so important now that you've had your little heroic moment here," whispered back one of the girls maliciously. Knowing they wouldn't comply, Marienne had to retire her efforts.

"My brother told me he saw him once," came the hushed voice of another classmate a few chairs down from Marienne during their last period before lunch. "Few months ago, on the way back from his night shift." The storyteller seemed to be drawing in an intrigued audience at her table. "Yeah, he saw him walking in a weird way on the other side of the road. My brother said he'd never seen someone so _horrible_." She emphasised the last word with a mock horrified expression, much to her audience's delight.

Marienne tried to ignore the girls' laughs and return to her assigned task, but the familiar hot anger had returned to her aching stomach, making it impossible to concentrate.

She was thankful to still have her friends on her side, and she needed them now more than ever before.

"That was a really brave thing you did," Julia told her during lunch. Marienne's eyes remained on her uneaten sandwich. "You should be proud of that. I mean, I could never have had the courage to do what you did."

Marienne sighed mournfully, still interested in staring at her lunch. "I am. I…I just can't stop picturing it." She bit her lip to stop her from bursting into tears in the middle of the crowded lunchroom. "I just don't know if he's ok or not. _Why_ did that have to happen to him?" she said, in a strained voice.

"I must admit, he is a bit unusual looking, sometimes this happens to those type of people," chirped Ines from beside her in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "I was terrified when he came on stage."

" _Very helpful_ ," whispered Julia, glaring at her. "It doesn't help that you're being reminded of it here," she said astutely, eyeing the surrounding tables of students whose topic of their loud conversation was the festival.

"This is ridiculous," spoke Marienne, stabbing her sandwich several times with her yoghurt spoon. "Why is all this bothering me so much?" She looked at her friends, desperate for any remotely helpful answer. She couldn't figure out why that boy- that shy, mysterious boy with the most unusual appearance- could have made this much of an impression on her. She had only talked to him a couple of times, and each interaction had lasted no longer than five minutes.

"Just go and see him!" offered Julia, and Ines nodded her agreement.

Marienne pondered her words. "It's impossible now," she eventually said, dejectedly. "I doubt his royal highness will let me back in his house now that I've _disgraced_ him in front of the whole of Paris."

Julia and Ines glanced at each other but didn't respond despite Marienne's pleading eyes for reassurance that maybe her worries were redundant. But their silence only confirmed the painful truth that she herself was unwilling to believe.

* * *

Marienne deemed the darkened sky and pelting rain that accompanied her walk from school fitting to her mood. The rain was hammering down as she crossed the square outside Notre Dame, now empty and free of trace from the festival. Her sad eyes were cast down, absently following her feet, before a sound, most beautiful and rich, made her stop.

The bells had begun sounding from the Cathedral. It was amazing how in such a bleak moment, something so rich and welcoming can pierce through it. She raised her umbrella and looked up at the majestic structure. She began shivering from the cold air and the rain that welded into her shoes and uniform. Deciding the walk home too far to do in this much rain, Marienne headed towards the great doors to wait out it out.

The warmth embraced her instantly. Thankful for the shelter, she closed the huge doors behind her, tapped the excess water from her shoes and walked the polished marble floors through the nave.

The sanctuary was so welcoming. The countless candles adorning the surrounding pillars danced their greeting to her, drawing her further into the blissful serenity. The Cathedral seemed deserted were it not for the small handful of worshippers huddled in prayer by the altar.

The bells continued to sound their angelic refrain in the distance above her, and she felt compelled to kneel on a nearby prayer stool. Allowing the music to fill her, she prayed. She prayed for justice and for her friend.

The bells soon ceased their singing, but she remained kneeling. This was the first time she had really felt at peace. She still had her worries, but she had found a strength within herself to handle those worries. For now, anyway. She didn't want to ever break away from this peace.

The grey sky, visible through the stained-glass windows, had sharpened to a dark blue when Marienne finally got up from the bench. The parishioners had since left. Needing to stretch her legs, she took a slow walk around the length of the quiet nave. She had never realised just how beautiful every inch of the majestic Cathedral was. Her Sunday masses only afforded her a limited experience of Notre Dame.

She stepped through corners that she had never seen before and admired the beautiful statues and shrines that surprised her with every turn. She even managed her first smile in days. But it was abruptly broken when a fierce yell a few metres away stabbed the peaceful silence.

"What do you think you're doing down here, freak?!" cried the angry voice. "Get out of here, now!"

Marienne dragged herself away from the beautiful statues and headed to where the commotion was taking place. However, she stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw the shadowed fleeing figure. So distorted and strange was the obscure form, the same one that hid amongst the shadows in the balcony during mass. She was certain she knew exactly who that form belonged to. This was her chance to finally talk to him. She didn't think she'd be able to ever see him again.

"Wait!" she called impulsively.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she darted past the perturbed townspeople and followed the figure up a nearby flight of narrow, twisting stairs. The shadow was moving extraordinarily fast, too fast for the girl to catch up to. But her determination flew her up those steps.

"Please, w-wait!" she cried again as she scurried after him.

After what seemed like a century, Marienne reached the top of the stairs. She was unsure of where the steps had led her, until she heard the unmistakable sound of rain. She walked gingerly out of the dark corridor onto a long balcony outside the building. It stretched before her, connecting both the south and north bell towers.

The girl spotted through the pouring rain the dark silhouette of the retreating figure as it quickly disappeared into the south bell tower. Refusing to let the dizzying drop far below her hinder her efforts, she continued her mission into the bell tower.

The lofty bell tower was cold, yet it had a surprising homely feel. It felt just as welcoming as the nave. Marienne had never known such a place. It was magnificent. Multiple wooden tiers piled high above her housed countless colossal brass bells. The dimming sky outside poured waterfalls of light through the gaps between the rafters. The few lit sconces lining the walls made it almost magical. It smelled pleasantly of wood and fresh rain.

The girl caught another glimpse of the figure as it scaled with impossible agility the great heights of the tower. She quickly dabbed at her face and ran a hand through her chestnut hair to get rid of the rainwater, before cautiously climbing the multiple ladders that took her higher and higher, until, much to her vertigo's pleasure, she had reached the highest platform. There was nothing above her or below her but thick, wooden beams that entwined around each other. She did everything in her power not to look down.

She disturbed a flock of pigeons as she walked carefully along the wooden platform. She instantly spotted the figure squeezed into the furthest corner, his bulky form proving difficult to completely conceal in the shadows.

"I-I really don't mean to harm you," said Marienne softly, still trying to catch her breath and steady herself. I'm sorry for chasing you up here." She would have felt silly saying this, for if she didn't want to chase him, she wouldn't have, but she remembered fondly of an identical previous awkward encounter she had had with this same figure who too remained plastered to the wall a few weeks prior. "Quasimodo?" she said with a knowing smile.

The frightened hunchback gave no sign of participating in the reunion. Marienne's smile soon faded as she watched with sadness at his shadowed, shaking form.

"P-please…just l-leave m-me," came the familiar soft and timid voice that at last confirmed the girl's suspicions as to the mysterious form's identity that had plagued her for weeks.

"Quasimodo," Marienne said again earnestly, noting the sadness in his voice. "It's me, Marienne." There was no response. "I hoped I'd have proven to you the few times we've met that I'm not going to hurt you," she explained in a kind, reassuring voice that concealed her anger at the reason why the poor boy in front of her was so agonisingly fearful and untrusting. Untrusting of the _right_ people, she thought sourly.

"I-I know," came the bell ringer's small voice again. It was so quiet that Marienne had to edge closer to make sure she had heard him. "I just…" he cleared his throat nervously as he struggled to find his voice. "I just don't…w-want to be seen…by a-anyone…a-again."

Marienne felt a pain in her stomach as she knew what he was referring to. "I am so, so sorry for what happened to you." She couldn't finish her sentence without tears flooding her eyes. "I can't imagine how you must have felt. How you must be feeling."

There followed an uncomfortable silence between the pair. Marienne noted that through the darkness she could see him rubbing his arm nervously as he tended to do around her.

"I already know what you look like," she said without hesitation. "And I'm not afraid of you. I didn't run from you the first time we met, why would I run now?" She waited again for movement. "Please, I…I just want to be your friend."

Choosing not to push it any further, Marienne turned to go. But the sound of light, unsure steps made her heart flutter, and she turned around just as the shadows slowly began to slip off the bell ringer's form as he walked a few small steps towards her.

She beamed at him as his recognisable red hair and bright eyes came into view, but then she spotted several cuts and bruises on his face that appeared newer than the fading bruise already adorning his right temple from a cause unknown to her. This was the damage from the festival in its rawest form. Marienne couldn't hold back the tears. "Oh," she squeaked, her hands covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

Quasimodo stood awkwardly in the light and cautiously raised his Ceylon-emerald eyes to meet hers. "I-I-I'm fine," he spoke, realising what she was talking about. "They w-will heal."

Marienne nodded as she wiped her face and smiled at him reassuringly. More uncomfortable silence ensued. At least the boy was alive. Despite this morbid thought, there was something in the girl that had exercised that possibility given the boy's sadistic, psycho of a father. She didn't dare guess what horror Frollo had done to Quasimodo as punishment after the festival. She didn't dare to guess which was damage from the festival and which was from _him._

"So," she chirped at last, desperate to not make the boy any more uneasy than he already looked. "What brought you to the cathedral today?"

Quasimodo blinked at the girl as he tried to adjust to the change in subject. "I-I…I work here."

"Really?" said Marienne, slightly surprised considering her suspicions of him as a total recluse that seemed permanently bound to his house. "What sort of work do you do?"

"I r-ring the bells."

Marienne stared at him, aghast. "Wow. Ok…Wow." She glanced up at the mountains of brass above her. "How many of you are there?"

Quasimodo looked confused.

"How many are with you to help ring the bells?" She elaborated.

"Oh…i-it's…just…just me," he responded, shyly.

Marienne couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Seriously?" The hunchback nodded nervously. "Wow," was all she could say again, though she could now place a reason for his abnormally muscular forearms. "They must be incredibly heavy."

"They…they can be."

As initially surprising as this new information was, processing it now, Marienne couldn't think of anyone else more suited to being behind the angelic, celestial peals that has been so much a part of her life. Only a beautiful heart could make such beautiful music.

"I can't tell you how beautiful you make the bells sound. Every time I hear them, I just want to cry." Marienne was delighted to spot a hint of that endearing smile form on the bell ringer's lips. "Do you enjoy ringing the bells?"

The hunchback appeared to contemplate this for a second. "Y-yes," he said, with a certainty in his voice that had not been there before

"It doesn't get in the way of school?"

"W-what's that?" Quasimodo looked up at her like a curious child aching to know more about the world.

Marienne furrowed her eyebrows at the unexpected response. She had never had to explain the concept of school to anyone before. "Well, it's a place where people go when they're young to learn things. There's all sorts of subjects, like history, English, languages, maths-"

"Oh, m-my m-master teaches m-me," stammered the hunchback.

Marienne's stomach gave a nauseating lurch. "I'm sorry…you're master? You have a master?"

"The r-reverend Frollo," Quasimodo explained cautiously.

Despite his imposing form and thickset build, he was like a scared, unsure child. Marienne couldn't help noticing that with every answer he spoke, the more he seemed to think he was doing or saying something wrong. The fear in his eyes was unwavering, despite the girl's efforts to put him at ease in her company. She also noticed the strange way he held himself. Sure, his physical limitations would dictate his posture and ail his gait, but he stood as though trying to hide into himself. She watched him continue to rub his arm nervously. It was as though this was the first time they had met.

"Oh…so he's not your father?"

"My father? N-no. H-he found me a-and took me in."

All the girl could do at this thought was nod. She found it difficult to believe that a man as needlessly cruel could have the heart to take a child in. Let alone a disfigured one. Her heart ached for this poor boy. Abandoned. Taken in by a monster, who, as evidenced by the collage of Quasimodo's scars and bruises, severely mistreats his ward.

"I…" came the boy's soft voice as he looked out at the rapidly darkening sky in panic. "I -h-have to go." He staggered in his haste towards the ladder. "I-it was n-nice to see you again."

"But…wait!" Marienne rushed towards the frantic bell ringer. "Can I see you again?"

"What?" Quasimodo looked both stunned and confused. "W-why would you w-want to see me again?"

"Because I like you! There's a reason I didn't run away from you the first time I saw you, and why I came to see you in your room that second time, _and_ why I sacrificed my hide to save you at the festival, _and_ why I wanted to follow you up a zillion stairs to talk to you now." Her tone was both a mix of humour and a touch of frustration at the fact that her efforts were seemingly lost on the hunchback, who still didn't appear to believe that she wanted nothing else from him but his friendship.

The boy, taken aback from the girl's mini outburst and the weight of her words, bit his lower lip as he calculated his own words. "I don't know. I-I mean…I w-want to…but I-I don't think I-I'll be a-able to…my m-master, h-h-he-"

"Not to worry," Marienne said gently, trying to help him out of his stuttering panic. "I'll find a way."

* * *

 **How did it go?**

 **Ok I reckon you're detecting the chapter is going along the lines of the movie where Esmeralda follows Quasi into bell tower and she's like "I wanna come see you!" but it just seemed to blend well with the festival events. In future chapters it will start to stray from the movie storyline.**

 **And I thought it might be realistic to a modern setting to have there be people at the festival using their phones to record, take pictures, etc.**

 **Hope to see you again real soon and please review!**


	20. When Your Feet Don't Touch the Ground

**Hellooo! So, it's a bit of a longer chapter this one, which I hope provides some consolation for another wait!**

 **Thank you to dreamkeeper for another wonderful review! And welcome, welcome Vanessa! Your review really warmed my cold, dead heart! Seriously, all you guys' reviews are so, so lovely, they really keep me and the story going! Stay tuned for some real juicy drama coming up too...**

 **But, for now, let's try out this chapter. I hope you guys like it...**

* * *

Marienne was in a much better mood the next couple of mornings before school. In fact, she couldn't stop smiling. She went about the kitchen on Wednesday morning, humming as she made her toast.

" _Four_ slices, Marie?" said her father, coming into the kitchen. Grabbing his keys, he smiled at her and kissed the top of her head affectionately.

"I guess my appetite's back," she said jovially, spreading plentiful amounts of butter and jam on the four thick slices of toast that spilled over the edges of her plate. She waved her father goodbye and happily began eating her large breakfast at the table.

She didn't think her high spirits could be so easily swayed, but she was proved wrong by the news brought by her mother who came into the room a few moments later.

"Reverend Frollo has told me that he would like you to apologise to him directly for what happened at the weekend."

"What?" Marienne protested, wide eyed, through a mouthful of toast. Her mother glared disapprovingly at the crumbs sprayed on the clean glass table.

" _Really_ ," her mother scolded as she wiped the crumbs with her immaculate, well-polished fingers. "Is it so surprising? I told you, he was very disappointed in your behaviour and he would like you to apologise for it. In person."

 _Of course he would_ _like that_. "When would he want his apology?" Marienne asked with palpable frustration that even her tone of forced politeness couldn't mask.

"I told him you'd make your way over to his house today after school."

 _Perfect_. Whenever the girl was put in a good mood, it seems there would always be something to snuff it out.

"I trust you remember the way?" Marienne nodded miserably as she felt her appetite leave her once again.

Her ability to enjoy school was diminished. Though she still hoped the day would go slowly in order to delay the inevitable.

But the end of school chimes eventually struck and Marienne reluctantly made her way, through the rain that had decided to show itself again, to the priest's house. She crossed the pebbled square that spread around Notre Dame and along the long road on which stood the house of Claude Frollo.

Standing at the foot of the front garden, she raised her umbrella and looked up at the front of the house that stood threateningly amidst the misty rain. She turned her squinted eyes to the smallest window on the upper tier, the weak, thin light emanating from Quasimodo's room broke through the darkening afternoon.

She could just make out a trace of a green shirt and red hair through the obscure glass. She smiled as she watched him at his desk, unmoving with concentration on a current task.

She detested that she had to grovel to the priest, but it was nice being able to see Quasimodo, even if only briefly and through tinted glass.

Marienne approached the porch that provided shelter from the rain. She became all too aware of the butterflies that had settled in her stomach as she rang the doorbell.

The girl had to wait for several minutes before the priest had appeared in the doorway, and she knew he had done this deliberately. The priest's hawk eyes appraised her from behind his reading glasses before a thin, empty smile broke it.

"Good afternoon, Marienne," he said in a false welcome. "Please come in." Marienne greeted the priest as politely as she could manage and followed his thin, aging hand that gestured her inside.

The long, ominous hallway that stretched before her didn't phase her as it had the first time that she had stepped foot into the cold house. Marienne lightly tapped her sodden shoes on the mat (earning a glance of disapproval from the priest). She took off her coat and scarf, and glanced up at the ceiling where she knew her friend was only the other side of the plaster.

"Follow me please, Marienne," came the deep sinews of Frollo's voice.

The girl trailed after him to the last door on the right. She recognised this small room as the same study room used for the Bible meetings. Frollo closed the door behind them and gestured her to sit on one of the hard-backed chairs.

As Marienne sat down, her eyes scraped over the open newspaper stretched out on a desk in the corner, recognising the article that bore the page as the same one she would never bring herself to read, despite being surrounded by it at school. She bit her lip and swallowed hard, once again needing to shake off the memory of that day. She was bitterly unsurprised that the priest would have no problem reading it. She even wondered if he had put it out there deliberately to taunt her.

Frollo walked behind the desk and sat down on the thick, leather chair behind it. He slowly took off his glasses, placed them neatly in front of him and clasped his aging hands together.

"So," he said slowly. "Thank you for coming here today, Marienne." There was not a hint of sincerity in his voice.

"Of course, no problem," the girl replied tersely.

But the priest said nothing else after that, electing to make Marienne as nervous as possible in the stone silence. He just watched her, and Marienne knew he was waiting for her to begin whatever sycophantic speech he was wanting to get out of her.

"Um…" Marienne began, aching to get this over with as soon as possible. Despite looking at the floor, she could feel Frollo's piercing gaze on her, daring her to continue. "Well, of course you know why I've come here this afternoon, Father. About the festival-"

"Yes," Frollo replied curtly.

"I wanted to… apologise for my…behaviour." It took the girl a lot of effort to swallow her fury at having to apologise for something she would never regret, and to a man she absolutely detested. She looked up and saw him smirk ever so slightly.

"And what behaviour was that, Marienne?" His icy voice struck every nerve in the girl's body. She could have hit him if she didn't know better. She knew he wanted to make this situation as painful for her as was humanly possible. He clearly was using this as her punishment.

Her eyes glazed over the open newspaper again. "For disobeying your orders at the festival…I know I should have listened to you." The words left a sour taste in her mouth, and the effort it took not to break made her stomach hurt.

The priest nodded at her condescendingly. "That's right. I know you're a good girl Marienne," he said, giving her a smile that made her skin crawl. "You don't mean to do these things deliberately. You're…still young." His eyes remained fixed on her and it was making the girl very uncomfortable. They looked almost hungry.

"I understand." She hoped this would satisfy the priest and he would let her leave. She really wasn't liking the way he was looking at her.

"Now," Frollo spoke abruptly, earning a quiet exhale of frustration from Marienne. "As that that's all settled." He rubbed his palms together slowly. "You are welcome to continue accompanying your mother and father to my Bible studies. I believe them invaluable to your education."

"Oh, thank you."

"Have you been enjoying them?"

"Yes, Father. Very much."

"I hope you didn't find them…challenging."

Marienne was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I hope those little jaunts to the bathroom weren't because of the strenuous nature of the study?" The priest's tone was forcefully innocent, but his eyes spoke of spiteful intent. "I can find them somewhat tiresome myself." He let out a sickly laugh.

The girl knew he was trying to dig towards something. "Right…no, there was no problem with the study, I enjoyed them, thank you." She returned his grating smile with a forced smile of her own.

Frollo's eyes narrowed. She was starting to get the hang of playing the priest at his own game. "You're welcome, Marienne," the priest said in a displeased voice. "You are…welcome to come again next week."

Marienne nodded. "Thank you."

"Would there be anything else you wish to discuss with me?" asked Frollo.

"No, Father. I think we've covered everything."

Frollo eyed her suspiciously again, sitting in a long silence. "Very well. You may go," he finally conceded.

Marienne walked behind the priest as he showed her out. "See you on Sunday," she said politely as she put on her coat and scarf, pulled up her umbrella, and stepped out into the rain. She consciously made a point not to look up at Quasimodo's window which seemed to be her instinct.

"Yes," came the far less cheery baritones of the priest. "Till then." And with that, he shut the door, leaving the girl drenched in the already darkening afternoon. She walked back down the path, unable to shake the uneasy feeling she always felt when talking with the priest.

After making sure the priest was nowhere to be seen, Marienne turned on the path and glanced up at Quasimodo's window. But, unlike earlier, the room appeared dark and empty.

Her silent question was soon answered when the colossal sounds of Notre Dame's bells rang their early evening chimes. Turning towards the Cathedral's great towers which showed themselves above the tall trees, she smiled and, like a moth to a flame, walked towards their welcoming voices.

* * *

The young man always loved when it rained. Every raindrop on each little leaf, or delicate petal, or trickling elegantly down his window opened a whole other world of inspiration. He loved to paint the symbiosis of water to land, how the rain seemed to crystallise as it trickled into the sinews of a bead of grass or slide down a sturdy branch.

Quasimodo sat and looked out that late afternoon and was met with a grey, cloud-filled sky. The rain had not stopped tapping against his window. He found the sound soothing, and it accompanied him as he began work on another promise of painted beauty.

He looked up every now and then out the window to help carve his inspiration as the paintbrush glided green lines gently over the paper. The rain made the view outside more hazy than usual, but it was just about doable.

Dipping into some water and then into another pot, the brush acquired a coat of grey, which was traced expertly around the green, creating an exquisite sight that could rival its real-life counterpart outside.

With flashbacks of his meeting with Marienne yesterday swimming strongly in his mind, Quasimodo was happy to have something else to focus on. But, for once, and to his surprise, the meeting hadn't left him feeling anxious or frightened. She had been kind to him again and had said for the second time that she wanted to see him again.

It was all very overwhelming to the boy, but a good sort. He just wasn't even close to getting used to this kind of new treatment. She was the first person, other than his master, who he had ever spoken to.

He hadn't expected to see the girl again, especially after inconveniencing her because of his foolishness at the festival. She didn't have to help him. But she did. She stood up for him. And to Claude Frollo of all people.

He knew he wouldn't be able to fully relax in her company quite yet. He still didn't understand why she was bothering with spending time with him. He was hideous, a monster, unworthy of love. Nothing to offer. She was sweet, and kind, and so _beautiful_. Her eyes were almost enchanting to him. He couldn't get them out of his frazzled mind. And the way she held herself with a quiet confidence. Just thinking about her made his stomach feel warm.

And, much to the boy's amazement, that very girl had suddenly appeared on the rain-soaked front garden outside. He had to do a double take just to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. But it was definitely her. Her thick, wavy chestnut hair was partially covered by a hood and umbrella, and she looked cold and soaked through.

What felt like a hundred bolts of lightning coursed through him when he saw her peek from under her umbrella to look up at his window. Fearing it rather silly to hide, even though every fibre in his being urged him to, he simply remained working on his painting, too nervous to do anything else.

He didn't dare look up, choosing instead to wait until he heard her unmistakable voice in the downstairs hallway. He could feel his heart racing in his chest.

He wasn't sure why she was at the house; his guardian rarely told him of his visitors. He listened for the girl's voice once again but received only Frollo's muffled voice from a distance.

He even wondered if she might visit him in his room again. But many minutes had passed with not a sign nor sound of her. He couldn't work out if the sudden heavy feeling in his chest was from relief or disappointment.

It wasn't long before he was needed at Notre Dame to ring the Vespers. Peering at the pitiful clock on the corner of his table, Quasimodo washed off the paint from his brushes, placed them carefully on the side to dry, and gently swept his latest unfinished painting of debris with a free hand. He turned off his light and headed to Notre Dame.

* * *

The bell tower was dark and rather cold when Quasimodo ascended the steps, but a few moments lighting the assortment of dimmed sconces and candles that decorated the wooden boarded walls soon rectified that. The air still held a chill, but the hard labour of the boy's duties would soon render him untouched by it.

The bell ringer climbed the highest platforms to the upper-tier bells, took in a deep breath and called the city to evening prayer with strong, expert conduct. The choruses that broke from the tower were as magnificent as ever. The tower walls quivered in their appreciation of the music.

As always, the skilled maestro fitted every note and phrase perfectly, so that they flowed seamlessly from one to the next. Quasimodo was grateful to not be completely deaf; his faded hearing was still able to revel in the carousel of chimes surrounding him.

It had taken him a while to be able to sew the bells' chimes into the form of a song, and intrinsically know how and where to guide in a note to accompany another flawlessly. It made it more difficult when his hearing had got progressively worse a few years ago. But Quasimodo had managed to teach himself despite this hindrance.

Several minutes had passed and, with a powerful leap to another boarded platform, the young man pulled on the roped tongues of the softer bells, bringing the celestial song to a gentle outro.

Satisfied, Quasimodo thanked his friends with a gentle touch of their brass coats before jumping with ease to the lowest floor and landing expertly.

But he was immediately startled when a loud gasp sounded from behind him. He quickly turned towards the sound and was very surprised to see Marienne. His already quickened breathing deepened.

"O-oh," he choked out, stepping back instinctively.

"Hi! I know, I'm sorry I'm here again," she spoke quickly. "And I'm sorry I scared you. I-I just, well, I just wasn't expecting you to jump down from the heavens like that!" She seemed like she couldn't stand still.

"Oh," replied the bell ringer meekly, still surprised and somewhat confused by his unexpected visitor. "I…i-it's just e-easier to get a-around." A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and he hastily wiped it away with a thick arm.

"So, you do that often?"

Quasimodo nodded. "I-I suppose I'm u-used to it." He tried not to focus on the knotting sensation in his stomach.

The girl looked very impressed. Her eyes scaled the height of the tower. "I'm not very good with heights."

"W-well, i-it just takes practice," he encouraged gently. "A-and a bit of n-not l-looking down," he said, and was surprised when a small laugh escaped him.

Marienne was beaming at him.

"I'm sorry for the unexpected drop in," she said once she noticed the boy's confused eyes. "I…well, I came to your house earlier today for something, and it got me a bit down and I…I don't know, I noticed your dark window and heard the bells and remembered you said you ring them and they just…sort of led me here."

Again, all Quasimodo could do was blink at her in both confusion and astonishment, taking in her fast-spoken words. There was a lot in there to grasp, and, like with every encounter he seemed to have with her, he was struggling with finding the right words to say in response.

"Th-thank you, i-it's n-nice to see you a-again." He looked nervously at the ground, as if for inspiration. "Y-yes, I-I thought I saw you. W-what, i-if I m-may ask, m-made you feel down?"

"It's nothing really, I just had to speak with Reverend Frollo about the festi-…the…just about something." She seemed nervous, as though worried she had overstepped.

"I-it's ok," he assured her, a downcast tone in his soft voice. "I-I don't m-mind." Sure, what happened at the festival still scarred him, in more ways than one, but Quasimodo didn't want Marienne to feel uneasy about it. He knew it would have been a lot worse if she hadn't had been there.

"I-I don't think I-I've thanked you for w-what you did for m-me that day." He squeezed his hands. "I-I r-really a-appreciate it."

Marienne looked at him, both gratefully and sadly. "Thank you, but I just couldn't stand it. You will never deserve that treatment." She hesitated for a moment. "You're too kind and gentle."

The knotting in Quasimodo's stomach got thicker and tighter. In all his life, he had never been called kind and gentle. He didn't know how to respond.

But, thankfully, Marienne became occupied with gazing around the bell tower again.

"This place really is amazing." The girl's delicate fingers lightly traced the grains in the wooden walls. "How long have you been the bell ringer?"

Quasimodo had to think for a moment. "I-I'm not too sure. I-I suppose ever since I-I was a-able to be. It just feels so long ago." He was still fighting the urge to run into the shadows, out of her view. It is safe to say he will always be ashamed of his appearance no matter how kind a person is to him. He felt guilty for every second he remained in the light, subjecting the young woman to his cruelly hideous afflictions.

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Marienne's question was almost lost to his storm of thoughts.

"I-I'm seventeen."

"You're a year older than me," she stated cheerfully, before focusing on something in the distance. "This must have the best view in the whole of Paris," she mused, almost dreamily.

"Oh, i-it does," he said, smiling briefly at the rather funny way Marienne squinted her eyes in a feeble attempt to see through the narrow margins of gaps to the outside.

"Can you show me?"

To say Quasimodo was taken back by this unexpected request would be a winning understatement. "I-I, y-yes, of course, I-I m-mean, i-it is quite high, a-a-and-"

"I don't care about my fear of heights," she said boldly, curbing his uncontrollable stuttering. "I've never seen the view from up here, but I've always wanted to."

Quasimodo rubbed his arm and tried to swallow his natural shyness. "Ok, f-follow me."

He led her up the many flights of steps, deliberately slowing his pace to make Marienne feel more comfortable. He noticed that she looked paler the higher they got. But with asking if she was still alright for this, he merely got in return a determined nod.

Reaching the top wooden landing, the young man opened a trap door and disappeared through it, reaching a hand to her.

"It goes even _higher_." The girl looked on the verge of fainting.

"This is the l-last bit. A-are y-you still ok to do this?" Marienne gave him another determined nod, and gingerly put her hand in his. Quasimodo hoped his sudden trembling and slightly sweating palms in response to their touching hands weren't noticeable to her. He gently pulled her up.

The rain had stopped, allowing a pleasant breeze to swim around the pair as the bell ringer slowly led the shaking girl further into the open.

"Wow," whispered Marienne, incredulous, as she drunk in the spectacular view that stretched before her. The early evening sky had caught hues of purple in its dark blue canvas, and the synergy of the two colours against the silhouette of the lit-up city below was nothing short of breath-taking. And it was peacefully quiet up upon the bell tower. They may as well have been the only two people on earth.

Quasimodo noticed Marienne sit down on a flat and sturdy-looking piece of wood and look out, with eyes wide like a child seeing the world for the first time.

"Sit with me," she requested softly. And hesitantly, the young man sat beside her.

"This is absolutely incredible. I have never _seen_ such a view. I'm so glad I did this." All trace of fright seemed to have left the girl.

"Y-you did r-really well," Quasimodo quietly commented.

Marienne looked at him appreciatively, making the boy incredibly uneasy at her steady gaze.

"Do you come up here often?" She brushed a strand of her thick hair behind her ear.

"Sometimes," he replied in a small voice.

Marienne sighed contently, hugging her knees. Quasimodo wasn't as relaxed. He was very aware of how close they were to each other and this situation was certainly unknown territory to him. He wrung his hands again nervously.

"You can see _everything_." She turned to the bell ringer. "Thanks for showing me this."

He swallowed hard. "N-not at all."

"I-I must admit," began Marienne after a few moments. She looked down at her knees solemnly. "And please forgive me for saying this, but I was surprised when you told me you were the bell ringer. I…" she hesitated. "I didn't think you ever left your house."

The bell ringer took a while to respond, contemplating his answer. "W-well, I-I'm allowed to l-leave to attend to the bells."

Marienne blinked at him. "Allowed? Wait…so, you have to ask permission every time you go outside?" she gave a hollow laugh at the absurdity of it.

"I-I only l-leave to ring the bells," Quasimodo repeated in a small voice, looking down.

"Yes, I know, but-" Marienne caught herself, a realisation having struck her. "Does Reverend Frollo keep you there against your will?" she gently asked him.

This subject was making the young man very uncomfortable, and Marienne noted this in his body language, so she didn't persist. The strained expression on his twisted face made it very clear what the answer was.

"He can't do that, Quasimodo." Marienne said shortly.

"H-he's just protecting me."

"From what?" she asked indignantly.

Quasimodo managed to look at her briefly. "From everyone," he said in a choked voice. "Y-you saw what happened at the festival. I-I now know what people can r-really do. H-he was r-right to keep me f-from all that."

Marienne frowned. "Not everyone is like those jerks at the festival." She softened her tone. "Yes, there are bad people in the world, but there are also really good people." The hunchback looked utterly dejected. "You just need to experience more of the world to see that for yourself."

"I-I w-want to," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You will."

A comfortable silence fell between them, and the boy was just starting to relax in the girl's presence. But the hunchback had been so swept up in this afternoon's turn of events that he had completely forgotten that he needed to have been home long ago. This had never happened before. How could he have allowed himself to be so careless?

"O-oh, um, I-I-I," he panicked. He immediately got up, his breathing quickening again. "I-I h-have to go. I-I n-n-never should have… _oh_." He put his large hands to his temples, feeling the painful throbbing from the bruise in the right side still. Interestingly, he hadn't felt the pain of his afflictions once during his encounter with Marienne. It was such a lovely relief, but to have it shattered now brought even more pain to him. But he couldn't disobey his master again.

"It's no problem," Marienne assured him, letting Quasimodo lead her back down the trapdoor.

"I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered as he guided her down the bell tower steps to the lowest floor.

"Please, don't worry. But…" They stopped, and Marienne looked firmly into his panicked eyes. "Please can I see you again?" This question seemed to be a common ending to their brief encounters.

"Y-yes," replied the bell ringer almost instantly. "I-I w-would l-like that very much." The certainty in his voice was evident, which had surprised him. Marienne beamed at him, before disappearing out the tower door.

Quasimodo made his own way out, but not before stealing one last glance at Marienne's retreating form with a tender smile.

* * *

 **How was it?**

 **Ok you could say the 'sitting on the bell tower roof' is based off the film, but it made a nice setting for giving Marienne and Quasi a chance to have a proper conversation and getting to know each other more. I can see why they did it for the film between Quasi and Esmeralda.**

 **But I am still intending to stray more from the film- I would say this might even be the last element taken from the film. I'm going off road from now on...**

 **Anyway, stay tuned for more!**


	21. Take From Me What You Need

**Ok...so...it has been a while. A rather while. Yeah...**

 **I am so sorry, this chapter took a reaalllyy long time to write- because...lots of stuff has happened/changed, some good some not so good, I also got a serious case of writer's block, I didn't like the initial concept and wasn't sure whether to split it into 2 chapters, BUT as I've been away for 10,000 years (boy it gives you such a crick in the neck) I thought I would leave it as one chunky chapter. Plus I want to speed this story's action up a bit. Tis slow no?**

 **This chapter is a little cutesy sweet but I promise you I am using these chapters to lead up to some interesting, hardcore (?) events! So stay tuned!**

 **But for now, let's get this going...**

 ***peeps head out behind chapter* reviews/feedback are always very much appreciated!**

* * *

As usual, the Sunday morning was greeted with the sounds of bells spreading through the winding, twisting streets of Paris. Its tumultuous echoes carried to every nook of the great city, and eventually settled in Marienne's ears as she walked towards the source of this aural splendour: Notre Dame.

The bells had always brought something special to the girl's life, but since discovering the beautiful, delicate soul behind their brass voices, they now brought her comfort. Hearing their chimes meant her friend was nearby. And it was strangely reassuring.

The more she had met Quasimodo, the more she had liked him. She knew she would, from that first encounter with him in his room, but she hadn't expected him to be so nice, and so polite, almost to a fault. It will always baffle her how such a cruel, wicked man like Reverend Frollo could have raised someone as kind and gentle as Quasimodo. He was so unlike any other young man she had known in her 16 years of life.

As she approached the Cathedral, she looked up at the bell towers towering high above and said a silent greeting to the bell ringer, before joining the other churchgoers inside.

The girl sat in her usual seat near the front of the nave next to her parents. She looked up to admire the beautiful ceiling that seemed to hold as much delicate, well-designed intricacies as the voices of the bells that surrounded the Cathedral in quietening tones.

Marienne exhaled slowly, disappointed that their last encounter in the bell tower had halted so abruptly. She could have spent an eternity sitting on the bell tower in his company. She missed the weightlessness she felt while sitting high atop the great tower with him, looking down at the world. The fear she initially felt had been instantly replaced with overwhelming peace. She didn't think it was possible to feel so at peace in that moment.

And yet she couldn't help feeling saddened by how uncomfortable the boy seemed to be in her company still. She noticed while they sat together on the roof how he was avidly trying to look anywhere but at her. She hoped meeting with him more would have eased this slightly. She didn't know what more she could do to help him.

And then it struck her. There _was_ a way she could help him. The boy had said himself that he wanted to experience more of the world. And who could blame him? Having been kept away from it his whole life. If she could just help him adapt to it, he would see that his experience at the festival was not a reflection of the rest of the world outside his door.

But, even having thought about it for a few seconds, she already felt nervous about it. What if she was rushing all this too much? Maybe he didn't mean what he had said? She was definitely overthinking this. An increasingly common occurrence.

The bells then began to ring their song to signal the end of mass, snapping the girl out of her cycle of worries, and paving way for thinking about her plan of action.

* * *

The next day saw an excited Marienne as she eagerly awaited the peels of the lunch bell to chime the end of third period.

Hurrying to her locker to grab her lunch, she made her way down to the cafeteria, and was glad to find just the two people she needed to see seated at a nearby table in the busy hall. They both greeted her warmly as she sat down in the remaining chair.

"Okay…" Marienne began, more seriously than she had intended, clasping her hands together on the table and shudderingly reminding herself of the priest. This earned confused and intrigued stares from both Ines and Julia. "I…need to ask you both a favour."

"Okay…?" replied Julia, sceptically, putting down her fork.

Marienne looked at them for a second, desperately contemplating whether this was in fact the best idea.

"What do you need help with?" asked Ines, worriedly.

"Well…I…I really want to help Quasimodo." She didn't expect the two to still be staring at her, confused. "The boy at the festival," she finished, answering their silent question.

"Oh," Julia said, sitting back in her chair.

"How's he doing?" chirped Ines cheerfully, and momentarily dislodging the nervous lump in Marienne's throat.

"He's…doing well…enough," she spoke sadly.

"What do you mean 'help' him?" asked Julia, flashing her grey coloured eyes that Marienne had always been rather envious of. In fact, there were many traits of the two that Marienne was envious of. Though Julia dyed her hair so frequently all different colours that Marienne couldn't remember her natural colour, it was the nexus of her exotic grey eyes and bright magenta hair that looked beautiful in a way the girl knew her hair and eyes never would. Ines' dirty blonde hair was not nearly as vibrant in colour as Julia's, but Marienne still bore jealousy for how pretty it looked amid her simple sky-blue eyes.

"Right," said Marienne, snapping back into the room and looking down at her whitening knuckles. "I…well…he's a lovely person, a really lovely person, and he deserves so much." She exhaled slowly. "The festival was the first time he had properly experienced the outside world, and, as you know, that wasn't the best time for him, at all. But he deserves to experience so much more of it and see that the world can be good…so I wondered…if I could introduce him to you and…I don't know-"

"Befriend him?" asked Ines trying to make sense of Marienne's fast talking.

"Well, maybe. Or maybe not. I don't know. Just let him spend some time with us. I just want him to see that there are so many great people in the world, and so many amazing experiences he could have for himself, that what happened to him at the festival was not what the world is really like."

"But he's just so…ugly," Ines whispered, rather dramatically, earning a glare from both Julia and Marienne.

"Exhibit A," Julia announced, gesturing to Ines.

"I'm serious, I thought he was wearing a mask at the festival. Couldn't believe it when they said he wasn't," said Ines.

"Well, yeah, everyone did." Julia looked back at Marienne. "Look, in all honesty, the world sort of _is_ like what happened at the festival," she said thoughtfully. She then hesitated. "Especially for someone… like him. Many people just don't accept them." Ines nodded her agreement.

"I know," said Marienne, dejectedly. "I'm very aware. But, for now, I just really want him to experience something good. You have no idea what he's had to put up with. I only know a small part of it, and what I know is terrible. I don't want to know the rest."

Marienne caught Ines and Julia exchange a nervous side glance.

"What's he like?" Ines asked after a few seconds of silence. "As a person."

"He's…incredible." Marienne smiled as she recalled all her meetings with the misunderstood boy. "Just so different. And not because of how he looks. His personality, so unlike any other boy our age. I never realised a person with such a sheltered, limited upbringing can have such a refreshing view of things. He's kind, considerate and just so, so sweet."

Marienne didn't expect her words to be met with laughter, and, quite frankly, she didn't care for it.

"Woah, ok," retorted Julia, amusedly. "Should we start calling you Mrs. Quasimodo?" This earnt more laughter from Ines.

"Why is all this so funny?" Marienne said in annoyance, raising her eyebrows at the two. "He's a really nice person, and I like him for that. He's my friend. That's it." She was beginning to regret ever asking the two for help.

"Okay, okay," Julia answered, putting her hands up in surrender. "If you say so." She thought for a moment. "He sounds great, it'll be lovely to meet him then."

"Ines?"

"Sure, why not."

"Fantastic," said Marienne happily. "Thank you so much. I know you'll like him too."

Deciding the details of the meeting was easy compared to the effort she knew it'll take to get Quasimodo to actually agree to this. But she was certain this would be the best thing for him. She couldn't bare seeing her friend so miserable. And he did say he wanted to experience more of the world. This seemed like a good place to start.

So, after school, Marienne said goodbye to her friends and made the very familiar journey to Notre Dame cathedral. The only difference this time was the pleasant afternoon that greeted her as she stepped out of the school, as opposed to the endless rain that had accompanied previous visits.

The young woman only needed to walk a few yards towards the silhouette of the cathedral, towering high above in the distance amid a sharp, clear blue sky, to hear the powerful echoes of the bells. She breathed in deeply, sinking into their comforting chimes and letting them swim in and around her.

She passed through the huge oak doors and headed straight to an inconspicuous eave in the stone wall which housed a set of narrow, twisting stairs.

She made her way up to the dizzying heights of the balcony that stretched towards the bell tower, determined to make the passage across as quickly as possible and with desperate eyes fixed on the bell tower door up ahead that thankfully was growing larger as she neared it.

The bells were still singing their song as she stopped at the tower entrance. Their volume had significantly intensified now that she was so close to them, and it was making her ear drums dance. Breathing a long-held breath, she went through the small wooden door into the slightly chilly bell tower.

Nothing could have prepared her for the greeting she received when she entered the lofty tower. She had never heard the bells in their rawest, loudest forms before. Now with nothing between her and these musical giants, she was vulnerable to their piercing power. She instinctively covered her ears with her hands.

Looking up with squinted eyes, she could spot their numerous bodies swinging on their hinges. She had never seen anything like it. She never realised so many bells were used at once. There were dozens of them, all moving rhythmically in accordance with one another.

With hands still firmly over her ears, she began to climb the steps to the lower platforms. Even with the muffled sounds, she could feel the volume increasing as she got higher up. She craned her neck to get a clearer view. The sight truly was remarkable. It was one thing seeing the bells stationary but to see them in action was an unearthly experience.

And then as if out of nowhere, a figure of unusual proportions and unparalleled agility leapt into her view. Marienne's legs nearly collapsed beneath her as she saw the figure fly from beam to beam, pulling hard on the thick ropes of each giant bell, before catapulting higher to do the same with the smaller bells above.

The young woman felt her heart in her throat at seeing her friend achieve these impossible stunts. It was already an impressive feat to be the cathedral's sole bell ringer, and his thick arms hinted at great strength, but she had no idea he was this good of an acrobat. Just seeing the endless drop beneath him was enough to make her want to sit down.

Quasimodo conducted the bells with the strength of a bear, and the grace of a spider. Marienne could tell that each complex move was perfectly calculated and well-rehearsed. He was at one with the tower and its brass occupants. It was as if he had been born to do this.

It wasn't long before the bell ringer had slowed his movements and left the bells to swing their last refrains as he let himself drop several floors into the shadows below. There was an unmistakable casualness to this drop which Marienne would have found amusing were it not for the rollercoaster of terror she had just endured at watching him for the past few minutes.

But that blood curdling panic once again kicked in as she only just realised she had somehow shimmied her way onto a narrow beam in her attempt to get a better view at the bell ringer's sky high circus act. It stretched over a fall of just a few metres, but the young woman's fear of heights made it seem much, much further.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down and could only manage a choked scream as she suddenly grew faint. In her panic, she lowered herself down to get a better grip of the beam, but one foot slipped over the edge, and she started to fall backwards.

She barely had enough time to scream again before she felt a strong arm catch her around her waist and hold her in a secure grip.

"It's ok…I've got you," she vaguely heard in the distance, her senses too distorted to place. She then felt herself being pulled up by that same strong arm and being carried slowly back along the beam. As she was gently placed down onto the safe hard floor, she slowly opened her eyes, and saw through hazy vision the unmistakable face of the bell ringer kneeling in front of her and looking very worried.

"Hey," she said weakly, smiling at him. The room was still spinning slightly but she didn't care. She was excited to see her friend again.

"Are you ok?" Quasimodo responded in a shaky voice.

The young woman felt a warmth in the top of her arm and looked down to find the hunchback's hand clasped gently around it. She swallowed her awareness of the fact that this was the first time the two had ever touched. Quasimodo seemed to just realise his hand was on her as well, and hastily removed it, quietly mumbling an apology.

"It's nice to see you again," she said cheerfully, looking straight into his friendly yet worried eyes.

"A-are you hurt?" he asked her, concern stronger in his voice.

Aside from feeling like her stomach had been put through the washing machine, she was otherwise alright. Her vision had fully cleared, and the room had stopped spinning.

"M-Marienne?"

Liquid happiness coursed through the young woman at the fact that he had remembered her name. This was the first time she had heard him speak it. She must admit, she liked how he made it sound with that gentle voice of his.

"Sorry. Oh, yes, I'm fine, really. I'm ok." She thought for a moment. "Thanks to you. Thank you for saving me. I thought I was a goner."

She was surprised to see Quasimodo give a light laugh. Even she found herself laughing at the melodrama.

"I-I'm just glad I-I was there to help you," he replied in that soft voice that so jarringly counteracted his unfortunate appearance.

"Yeah, where did you come from?" She looked above her as though the answer was hidden in the rafters. The last Marienne saw of him was dropping into the shadows quite a distance away from her. There was no way he could have got to her in the time he did. Should she add speed of a jungle cat to his already impressive arsenal?

"W-well, I-I just heard w-what sounded like a…scream, so I-I-I just…came to help." As Marienne had always noticed, Quasimodo spoke as though he was guilty of something. As though he was always made to feel guilty. _Three guesses by who,_ she thought darkly.

"Well, thank you so much," she said, beaming at him, though this was lost to him as he, as usual, kept a keen interest in looking at his hands rather than at her.

She slowly started to stand up and caught the look of downright alarm etched across the hunchback's face as she did so. He appeared unsure of what to do. She could see his conflicting thought processes as he seemed to reach out to help her up but was unsure whether to follow through. It was saddening how unused to human contact he was.

"I'm really ok," she said gently, hoping to put him at ease, as she got to her slightly wobbly feet. "I've never been very good with heights."

To Marienne's pleasant surprise, Quasimodo let out another soft laugh, though she suspected this was more from nervousness. "Y-yes… I-I r-remember you telling me." This comment made the girl's stomach tingle ever so slightly.

Fully upright now, the girl was able to look at the bell ringer properly. She briefly studied his face, noting that his bruises were less harsh since the last time she saw him, and the cuts had faded to faint scars. Overall, he looked fairly alright, certainly the healthiest she'd ever seen him.

Marienne then spotted the look of discomfort on the bell ringer's face as she studied him, and immediately deterred her eyes. In any case, she should have known to stop doing this now. She knew it never put the already nervous boy at ease. Her eyes locked instead onto the bells above them.

"I'd never seen you ring the bells before," she said simply, looking up. She could see Quasimodo follow her gaze. "To say it was an impressive display is one heck of an understatement," she added dryly. "You're quite an acrobat."

"Thank you," he replied, almost too quietly for Marienne to hear.

"How do you do that everyday?" Marienne thought for a moment. " _Multiple_ times everyday?

"I-It just takes practice."

Marienne looked at him and spotted in that moment a light in his eyes as he looked at them fondly, like a father would at his children. It was clear these bells meant a lot to him, they were his friends. She reasoned this was what made the bells sound so beautiful. His love for them shone through in their voices.

"I-I didn't expect to see you again so soon," Quasimodo said, his light voice telling Marienne instantly that he was pleased to see her regardless.

"Is this a good time for you?"

"Y-yes, a-absolutely."

"Great! Ok, well…" Marienne was briefly distracted by a flock of pigeons flying off through the gaps in the tall parapets. "Well…I wanted to…pitch an idea to you." Marienne saw Quasimodo's Ceylon-Emerald eyes fixed on hers in trepidation.

The girl looked around her as though worried someone would be listening, before trying to find her voice again. "I wondered how you would feel…I remember when we were talking on the bell tower roof that you mentioned you wanted to experience more of…well, life."

Marienne was already going into one of her famous fast-talking spiels, as she did when she was nervous, and so took a second to compose herself before continuing. "I-I wanted to show you that not everyone is like those festival idiots, so I thought you might like…" Quasimodo's eyes seemed to be growing in anxiety as each word sunk in. "…To meet my friends." She bit her lower lip, not letting her breath go as she awaited his response.

The silence between the two was unbearable for the girl. The hunchback had gone from looking at her anxiously to blinking multiple times. She noticed his mouth would open briefly and then close as though about to say something but had thought against it at the last moment. The poor thing seemed in a brutal internal battle, and it was difficult to witness the evidence as she watched him.

Quasimodo eventually cleared his throat. "Oh," he said quietly.

"I know it's sudden and…very different," she said supportively. "Their names are Julia and Ines, and they're really lovely, sweet girls. And they're really excited to meet you, that is, if you would like to."

"They know about m-me?" Marienne didn't think he could look any more petrified.

"Well, I was just telling them a bit about you, that you were incredibly kind." She smiled reassuringly at him, but Quasimodo looked quite disturbed by this news.

"H-have you told m-many others about me?" His tone wasn't particularly angry, but it had lost its usual softness.

"No, not at all!" She knew what Quasimodo was fearing. "It's just them that I told. And they really are lovely, and they just want to be your friend."

She didn't dare tell the boy that in fact her entire school, even those that didn't attend the festival, knew about him now, with the story of the festival being splashed all over the media. It was impossible _not_ to have come across the story of the mysterious deformed bell ringer being revealed in the most public situation imaginable. She didn't expect that he'd get a copy of the paper delivered to his room very often to know this.

"I…I-I'm sorry. I-I just don't want m-many people knowing about me. I-I just w-want things to be h-how they w-were. I-I belong…a-alone." His stutter always seemed to get worse when he was agitated.

"Would you prefer I stopped seeing you?" She asked quietly, deliberately calming her tone so she wouldn't come across as accusatory. She had been meaning to ask him this for a while. In all the times that she had thrown herself into his life repeatedly, she had never asked him if he was actually ok with it.

Marienne knew Quasimodo didn't entirely mean what he had said. But she felt she had to ask, just on the off chance it was true. She respected him and didn't want to impose in his life if it was in fact not what he wanted. She knew he would be too polite to say so himself.

"N-no…I-I really like seeing you," he said almost instantly, much to Marienne's great relief. "I-I r-really appreciate y-you spending time with m-me. A-and I-I would like to m-meet your friends, it's just…I-I n-never thought I-I w-would ever have a friend in all my life…I-It's just a little…overwhelming when y-you say that other people w-want to be too." He averted his eyes to stare at his hands again.

It was endearing how much effort he had taken in choosing his words so carefully to not offend her or make her feel uncomfortable. Marienne was angry at herself for having not fully considered the fact that all this, their friendship and her visits, were jarringly new and difficult to get used to for the lonely boy. She hadn't even thrown the priest into the equation; no doubt Quasimodo was always apprehensive about getting caught every time Marienne came to see him. She mentally slapped herself for her ignorance.

"I'm really glad to hear that," Marienne replied, with that fuzzy feeling in her stomach making an appearance again. "I know all this can be overwhelming for you. Just think about whether you'd like to meet them. It's entirely up to you, see how you feel." She hoped her tone came across as relaxed as she intended.

"A-at the festival…they didn't…l-like me," the bell ringer said sadly.

The young woman exhaled slowly, trying to cast the haunting images out of her mind. "Don't worry, I promise you, Julia and Ines won't hurt you in any way. I promise."

"But…m-my mast- I-I-I mean…Frollo would never allow this," he replied, managing to look at her in the eye for one small moment.

"We'll make sure he won't find out." The girl looked about the tower. "We'll meet here!" she reasoned, excitedly. "When he's working. He will never know."

"But…I-I-"

"I've been up here a few times now, and he's not once caught us," she concluded.

"H-he's u-usually working when you visit here."

"Well then that's great! We'll do it right after school, while he's busy. We won't be long anyway." She was feeling rather happy about this plan, but one look at the bell ringer's forlorn face and her chest tightened painfully. "You don't have to," she said gently.

"W-what if they don't…like me? I-I mean…I don't want to frighten them." The childlike innocence in his voice was almost too much not to make Marienne drop all inhibitions and hug him. Goodness knows he needed a hug. But perhaps this would be too soon.

Instead, she just stood there, thinking of her answer carefully. "If you show them the kind person you are, then there'll be no reason to be frightened." The bell ringer smiled gratefully at her.

With everything said that needed to be, the girl thought it best to leave him to help give him time to think about her proposal, so she gave him one last smile of support and turned slowly to leave.

But soon a quiet voice pierced the chilled air. "I-I'd like to meet them."

Marienne turned back to see Quasimodo smiling at her. She knew that behind that smile was an insurmountable amount of fear and an apprehension for the unknown outcome of meeting with two strangers. But he had put all that aside. It was in that moment that she saw he truly was a genuinely exceptional person.

* * *

The two agreed the day and time to meet her friends. Marienne didn't think she'd feel nervous about the hunchback meeting her friends, but the tight knot caressing her stomach during the whole of school as she anticipated the last bell of the day had greatly proved her wrong.

The knot had not left her even as she walked the short walk to the Cathedral, with Ines and Julia beside her. She had considered inviting Anne-Lise along to meet her new friend, but she had decided against it for two reasons; she herself didn't know Anne-Lise as well as Julia and Ines since she tended to stick with her textiles friends, and she didn't want Quasimodo to feel too overwhelmed with three strangers to meet. Two was plenty as it was.

As much as she tried to join in with the two girls' cheerful conversation, Marienne couldn't help feeling very anxious. She almost felt like she was going to be sick.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she thought. She wasn't sure why she felt so nervous. Sure, she was slightly worried that something would go wrong, maybe Julia and Ines would be too frightened and make Quasimodo feel even worse about himself. Or maybe the shy bell ringer would be put off by the meeting and elect to hide even further in his small, cold room forever. Maybe he wouldn't even want to see her again.

Maybe this once good idea had more consequences than it had benefits. Maybe she should just call the whole ordeal off. But the whole reason she thought of this was to help him. She had made a promise on that horrifying day of the festival that she would be that friend he deserved, that friend he had deserved for 17 years. She had vowed to help him in any way she could. She knew this would be good for him. This was what he said he wanted.

It was like her mind was playing tennis with itself. All these conflicting thoughts and emotions weren't helping her stomach. She focused her eyes on the small grains in the cobbled stones to help distract herself.

"It's ok," Julia said compassionately to the girl, smiling at her and giving her shoulder a supportive squeeze. Marienne hadn't realised she had made her nerves this obvious. "I'm looking forward to meeting him."

"Definitely," chimed in Ines, appearing next to them.

The bells had begun tolling in the distance, their chimes growing louder as they rounded the corner into the square. Marienne looked up at the Cathedral as it came into their full view. Strange, it didn't seem as welcoming at it usually did. And, for the first time, the bells didn't comfort her as much.

"Say his name again, sorry," asked Julia.

"Quasimodo," said Marienne in a slightly strained voice.

"Quas-i-modo," Julia repeated, sounding it out slowly.

"Yeah, unusual isn't it," Marienne laughed weakly.

"I've never heard a name like it," said Ines, thoughtfully. "I like it." _You don't want to know what it means_ , thought Marienne contemptuously.

Maybe it was Ines' innocent admiration of Quasimodo's name, or Julia's comforting hand on her shoulder, but Marienne began to feel a little better about the meeting. It was the reassuring notion that this afternoon might be a success. That the bell ringer might want to explore more of the world he so clearly craved. It certainly helped that the priest wouldn't be making an unscheduled appearance. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

The three girls walked into the nave of Notre Dame, and Marienne couldn't help giggling when she saw the look of childlike wonder on her friends' faces as they took in the scenery. The Cathedral's beauty never ceased to amaze the girl, but it must be even more so for those who don't attend mass here every week.

Marienne led the two up the familiar eave in the wall that housed the twisting stairs that paved straight up to the bell tower. She could still hear the booming bells in the distance, and they grew louder as they neared the top.

She had done this route a few times now and was pleased to notice that it had become a little easier to carry herself up those countless steps. Looking behind her, she let out a sporting laugh as the complete opposite was evident for her friends.

She would have thought the endless drop below them as they scurried along the balcony would be a bit easier to handle as well. But sadly, her fear of heights was still greatly instilled in her.

The bells were dying down as they approached the small oak tower door. Trying to ignore the girls' nervous glances at each other, Marienne opened the tower door gingerly, and the three slowly stepped in.

"Quasimodo?" she announced to the slight darkness, her voice echoing around them. She waited a few moments for any sound of movement but the only sound that greeted her was the distant sound of pigeons being disturbed from their wooden perch.

The three walked further into the tower, and Marienne noticed the same awestruck expressions on Julia and Ines' faces that they had when taking in the serene splendour of the Cathedral's nave. She watched as they stared above them at the countless brass bells swinging slow, ghostly rhythms from this afternoon's Angelus.

"Quasimodo?" the girl called again, concern spreading in her voice. She craned her neck in the hope to catch him on one of the wooden beams, but to no avail. Then suddenly she heard a soft _thud_ , followed by the gentle creaking of floorboards. Marienne turned to the source of the quiet sound, but wherever Quasimodo had just landed, it was not somewhere conspicuous.

The girl reasoned that she would let the bell ringer come out in his own time. The last thing she wanted was for him to be more uncomfortable than he must already be. footsteps continued towards them, and then an equally soft voice followed.

"H-hi," came the small, unsure voice of the bell ringer, and Marienne could just about make out his silhouette a few yards in front of the three, partially hidden by shadow.

"Oh, hey!" Marienne replied, cheerfully. "I wasn't sure where you were." She saw Julia from beside her squint her eyes in her attempt to make him out. It seemed the hunchback preferred to remain slightly concealed for the time being.

"Oh." Marienne turned to Julia and Ines. "So, these are my friends from school, Julia," she gestures to Julia on her immediate left, "and Ines," she concludes, gesturing to Ines.

"Hey there," Julia chirped, waving at the shadowed form that is Quasimodo.

"Hi!" followed Ines, displaying the same level of enthusiasm. Marienne beamed at the two. She hoped their friendliness would help put the bell ringer at ease.

"A-and this," Marienne gestured to the shadowed corner, "is my good friend...Quasimodo."

"It's nice to meet you," replied Julia, looking attentively at the shadowed figure. "Thank you for inviting us up here."

Marienne looked hopefully at her shadowed friend, but the hunchback merely scratched his arm anxiously and gave a few meek nods. He even seemed on the verge of running away. The poor thing couldn't seem to shake off his shyness.

She suspected this would happen when Quasimodo had first accepted to meet her friends. It had not even been a couple of weeks since what she assumed had been the worst day of his sad, lonely life. When his pedestal of triumph had turned into his cage of torture. She understood it was never going to be easy to shake off the feeling of victimisation for mere appearance.

Watching him in the shadows now, Marienne was reminded of when he had concealed himself in the rafter's shadows when she had tried to console him after the festival. She remembered that sinking feeling when she had watched his scared, shaking form back away from her, as though he had never even met her before. As though he had forgotten those few encounters in his bedroom, and how his nervousness around her had gradually started melting away, only to be instilled in him again after the festival.

She had the sobering assumption that the events at the festival had imparted in him two things; that people, not even exceptions like Marienne, could be trusted if they were capable of such low, unjust treatment, and that his appearance really was as hideous as Claude Frollo had taught him.

But the girl was slowly amending his initial distrust and fear of her, paving the way for a blossoming friendship between the two, and so perhaps that could be the case with his anxiety with Julia and Ines.

Perhaps he just needed a little encouragement. Swallowing hard, the young woman walked slowly towards Quasimodo's shadowed corner. "You can do this," she whispered just quiet enough so the other two wouldn't hear. She glanced across to the two girls standing rather uncomfortably behind her.

She looked back at him and impulsively stretched her hand out to him. She wasn't entirely sure why she had done this but hoped it could maybe offer him some reassurance and encouragement. Or maybe it was too much, but she kept it there just in case. She could see Quasimodo's eyes squint as he gave her a look of what she would describe as frightened determination.

What happened next surprised her; she felt a large, calloused hand slowly reach out and carefully take her small, delicate outstretched hand. She marvelled at the rather amusing contrast of her hand almost engulfed by his. Despite their roughness from years of labour, his hands held a certain softness. She also couldn't help noticing how gently he held hers, as though afraid of crushing it with the smallest squeeze. For all she knew, he could do it.

This was the second time in a few days that the two had touched, and unlike the first time, Quasimodo seemed determined not to retract away. Though she suspected he was fighting every instinct in his body not to do that as she slowly guided him out of his safe concealment to the waiting eyes of Julia and Ines.

There was a deathly still, unsure silence in the lofty tower as the two girls took in the full, unconcealed appearance of the deformed man staring, terrified, at them.

Despite the two having seen what the shy boy looked like at the festival, it seemed as though they were seeing him for the first time. Marienne heard Ines give a small gasp, though she disguised it with a cough. Julia hadn't made her reaction as obvious but Marienne could see the look of alarm in her grey eyes.

All three of them seemed to be fighting the urge to bolt from the scene. But being mediator of sorts, Marienne felt she needed to break this initial air of discomfort, or perhaps more accurately, terror.

"S-so," she began, trying to ignore the fact that the nausea from previously had returned. "You should see him in action when he rings the bells, it's quite a sight." She smiled at Quasimodo who returned it with a small smile of gratitude.

"Right," Julia perked. "I'm sure." Marienne noticed the slight nudge she gave Ines which seemed to spring the blonde girl into action.

"So…your name…where did it come from?" asked Ines, and Marienne could see that she was finding it difficult looking the boy in the eye.

Marienne made a slight involuntary wince as the question that carried so many unfortunate, painful memories and reminders was tossed so casually into the chilly bell tower air.

There was a painful silence, and Marienne saw Quasimodo looking more uncomfortable than ever. She partly wished she had given the two a list of what not to ask him before bringing them here. This question would have been the first pointer. But she knew Ines was never one to cause any spite, and this question was just another result of her innocuous curiosities.

"I-I'm… n-not sure…m-my…guardian chose it for me." The boy bit his lower lip as though trying to hold back tears.

"I-I think it's Latin," chimed in Marienne quickly, trying to ease Quasimodo's discomfort and put a lighter spin on the question.

"Who's your guardian? If you don't mind me asking," spoke Julia.

"R-reverend Frollo," replied Quasimodo dismally.

The looks on both girls' faces told Marienne they felt how she had felt when she first found out that cruel man had raised such a sweet, gentle being. It will never make sense to her. It was a testament to Quasimodo's strong character to not let himself be so corrupted as his 'master.'

"I must say," spoke Julia, "this place is incredible. I didn't realise this place was so big." Marienne was exhaled in relief from the change in subject.

"And those bells," chimed in Ines, looking above her. "They sound so nice. Well…I suppose, you make them sound nice."

"Thank you," replied the shy young man, almost whispering his words.

Marienne laughed. "That's exactly what I told him when I first found out that he rang the bells."

"How many are there?" asked Julia, looking above her at the bells as well.

"Twenty o-one."

Julia nodded in acknowledgment. "So…" she furrowed her brows inquisitively. "…you ring them all…by yourself?"

Marienne smiled at the similarity of these questions to her own when she had enquired about his bell ringing duties. She was sure Quasimodo's small, knowing smile in her direction meant he had the same sense of deja vu.

"Y-yes."

Julia nodded again, clearly very impressed.

Marienne took a moment to peruse the scene in front of her and gave another small breath of relief at how her two school friends were growing visibly more comfortable in the bell ringer's company. She even noticed the hunchback's demeanour was growing a little more relaxed.

"W-would you like to see them?" The sudden strength in Quasimodo's unsure voice made Marienne's stomach give a small dance.

"Yes please!" said Ines and Julia, almost in unison.

Marienne saw Quasimodo give a gentle nod of what she figured was forced determination, before leading the three up the wooden steps. They passed platform after platform as they climbed the steps higher and higher.

The rapidly increasing height made Marienne feel queasy again. She tried to keep at the pace of the others leading ahead but found herself getting slower as her stomach continued doing back flips.

She finally stopped mid step. She clutched the banister hard and looked down at her whitened knuckles, trying not to focus on how it felt like she was caught in a steam roller.

But then she heard a voice, gently calling her back from the spinning haze.

"Marienne?" she heard faintly. The girl looked up from her paled, shaking hands into the Ceylon-emerald eyes of the bell ringer. "A-are you alright?" She hazily followed his eyes as they frantically inspected her for any signs of harm.

Looking into his concerned eyes, she gave a weak laugh as another sense of deja vu hit her. "You're...you're getting pretty good at coming to my rescue," she muttered.

"W-would you l-like to go back down?"

Marienne looked behind him at Julia and Ines who were at least another platform higher. They both looked down at her with concerned faces.

"Thank you," she said through waves of dizziness. "But I think I just need a minute and I'll be fine."

"O-of course," Quasimodo replied gently. "A-as long as you need."

Quasimodo stayed with her for the 5 minutes it took for Marienne to feel a little less dizzy. Indeed, the vertigo was still very much there, but she had got to the point where she, with Quasimodo's help, could just about continue the rest of the journey up to the highest platform where the bells rested.

In fact, if it wasn't for Quasimodo's patience and gentle encouragement Marienne would have in no way been able to succeed in reaching the top to greet Julia and Ines. Taking a minute to breathe once she stepped foot on the platform, she went over one particular event of the last 5 minutes that she couldn't let go of.

It had come of a complete surprise to the girl, but Quasimodo had offered his hand to help her finish the rest of the course. She knew how unused to physical contact he was, which absolutely made sense as to why he had shyed away when touching her shoulder a few days ago.

It was one thing that he had accepted her outstretched hand to him not 10 minutes ago when drowned in shadow, but for him to actively, and of his own free will, offer her his own made the dizziness in her stomach get entirely engulfed by the warmest of sensations.

It told her he trusted her. That he was not afraid of her or uncomfortable around her.

For the several weeks she had known him, she had been yearning for this to happen. And for what felt like the 500th time, she beamed at him.

The bells were more magnificent now for how close they were to them. If it weren't for her preference to remain taped to the banister, she would have reached out and touched their majestic brass shells. The light that dimly shone through from the sunset outside gave their bodies a spectacular amber glow.

Marienne watched in awe as Quasimodo practically danced about the bells, introducing each one to them and showing the girls their purpose in their musical refrains. He had even given them names. Gabriel, Emmanuel, Anne Genevieve, Etienne, Jean Marie to name a few.

Quasimodo turned their attention to the biggest bell Marienne had ever seen. It was absolutely colossal, and that was saying something considering the majority of the bells were absolutely humongous. She learned he had lovingly named this particular bell Marie. The girl couldn't help noticing how particularly fond he seemed of this one. She thought back to how her father lovingly called her 'Marie.'

As the girl traced his brisk movements, she noticed how different Quasimodo seemed as he excitedly told them about how and when he would need to ring each bell. He seemed to be completely in his element. It was almost like he had stepped out of his usual shy, unsure self and revealed who he truly was underneath. Even his limp was barely noticeable.

Catching that look of fatherly admiration in his eyes again, Marienne could tell Quasimodo clearly adored these instruments. They really were his friends. She thought soberly that these must have been his only friends and confidantes before she came along.

The sky outside had eventually let go of its golden sunset hues and had put a blanket of dark blue and purple in its place. Marienne knew she could spend the whole evening listening to Quasimodo happily talk about the bells, but she suspected Frollo ought to be finishing work soon and didn't want to risk the boy getting into trouble.

While all four made their way down to the lowest level, Julia and Ines, now completely comfortable in the hunchback's presence, chatted idly with the bell ringer, asking him questions about the bells and his duties as sole bell ringer.

"Thank you so much for a fantastic time," announced Julia as they walked towards the tower door and gathered their things to leave. "It was really great meeting you."

"Yeah, thank you!" Followed Ines, nodding fervently.

"I-it was lovely m-meeting you too," replied the bell ringer to both girls, seemingly back to his reserved disposition.

He then turned to Marienne and smiled warmly at her. The girl could tell it was a smile of both gratitude for her suggesting the meeting, and relief and happiness at having had the courage to do it.

"See you soon?" Marienne asked the bell ringer, not letting go of her smile.

"Definitely," he answered assuredly.

Marienne once again had the overwhelming urge to hug him, but begrudgingly fought against it. This afternoon had gone so well, she didn't want anything to change that by overstepping. Instead, she gave him one last small wave before stepping out into the chilly evening with the others. She wrapped her jacket around her more, and was very aware of that warm, fuzzy feeling still having not left her.

* * *

 **cuuutteeeeee**

 **Ok, but this doesn't necessarily mean that warm feeling is 'romantic' per se ... who knows, let's see what that is, and don't worry, you won't have to wait another 10,000 years (Oiii!) to find out...**


End file.
